


By Design

by adrianna_m_scovill



Category: Chitty Chitty Bang Bang - All Media Types, Trouble in the Heights (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Nevactacus, Oral Sex, Sharing a Bed, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:01:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28098087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna_m_scovill/pseuds/adrianna_m_scovill
Summary: For Sarah - a Nevactacus soulmate AU.If anyone has read my first Nevactacus "origin story," By Hook or Crook, there are a few parallels as I sort of think of this as an AU of that. It's not necessary to read that, though; they're both crackfics ;)
Relationships: Caractacus Potts/Nevada Ramirez
Comments: 4
Kudos: 36
Collections: Nevactacus





	By Design

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sarahcakes613](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahcakes613/gifts).



Caractacus snapped out of his daydream with a gasp, clutching at the steering wheel with both hands as the jolt of impact rocked him forward into his locked seatbelt. He stared through the windshield in horror as a man got out of the dark, shiny car in front of him. 

Caractacus knew instantly that the man was going to be a problem: tight black jeans, black shirt that was unbuttoned low enough to show the curved top of a black undershirt, black leather jacket, black sunglasses that he yanked off and hooked into his shirt. 

His scowl was dark enough to match his outfit.

He was striding toward Caractacus’s car firing off a string of Spanish that was too fast for Caractacus’s still-stunned brain to translate. He fumbled quickly out of his seatbelt and out of the van despite his apprehension, stumbling and nearly faceplanting on the pavement.

He managed to keep his footing, but a moment later he flattened himself against the side of his van as the man drew alarmingly close. Caractacus held up his hands, stammering out an apology, flinching when the man stopped mere inches from him and raised an arm.

The man didn’t hit him, but pointed a finger at Caractacus’s face and switched seamlessly to English: “You hit my fucking car with this piece of shit?” He glanced at the van with a sneer. “I should sue your fuckin boss for hiring a delivery boy who can’t fuckin drive.”

“Please calm down,” Caractacus said, wincing as someone honked. The light had turned green, but the man in black didn’t seem to care about the other vehicles. Caractacus pulled out his wallet with trembling fingers and nearly dropped it. “We can exchange insurance—”

“I ain’t exchangin shit,” the man said, snatching Caractacus’s wallet from his hand.

“Hey,” Caractacus said, making a swipe for his wallet as the man stepped back and narrowly missed being hit by a car swerving around Caractacus’s van. “Give that—”

“What the fuck kinda name is—I ain’t even trying it.” The man raked a gaze down the length of Caractacus’s body, nose wrinkling in disgust at the sight of his floral print suit. “What kinda circus’d you escape from?”

“Sorry, someone had already bought all the black clothing,” Caractacus said, and the man blinked in surprise before snorting softly. “Give me back my wallet,” Caractacus added, holding out a hand and flapping his fingers.

“You got twenty-seven dollars in here and one company credit card. The hell am I— _Vete a la mierda!_ ” he shouted at the honking car, and while he was distracted Caractacus made another grab for his wallet. He wasn’t quick enough. “Calm your tits, flower boy.” 

“You don’t need to be rude, I said I was sorry.”

“Not sorry enough,” the other man muttered, pulling a business card out of Caractacus’s wallet. “ _¿Vas a seguir jodiendo?_ ” he shouted at the honking car as he slapped the wallet against Caractacus’s chest. Caractacus winced and barely managed to grab it before it fell, but the man was already turning away. 

“You can’t leave!” Caractacus said indignantly, starting after him. “We have to call the police—You have to give me your name!”

“Fuck you, that’s my name,” the man said, dropping into the driver’s seat and pulling the door closed, leaving Caractacus to stare after him as he peeled out and sped through the yellow light. 

* * *

“Everything alright?” Truly asked when Caractacus came hurrying into the shop half an hour late with his hair flying around his head. “You look...more frazzled than usual.”

“Oh, perfect,” he answered, throwing his satchel onto the counter. “I was in an accident with some horrible leather-clad thug who refused to wait for the police—”

“Leather-clad thug?” she laughed. Then: “Wait, are you okay? Is the van okay?”

“I’m fine, and it’s thankfully only a scratch. His car had more damage.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “I can’t afford an insurance hike, we’re barely making it as it is.”

“Well, you said he didn’t wait for the cops. Maybe he won’t file a claim? We can live with a scratched bumper.”

“He didn’t take my insurance but he did take my business card. I imagine he’s going to come in and try to get me fired.”

“That’ll be tricky,” she said. When Caractacus snorted, she added, “I take it he doesn’t realize you own the place?”

“He wasn’t exactly a conversationalist.” He sighed and looked around the small but cheery flower shop. He was barely making ends meet, barely keeping a roof over his kids’ heads, but he couldn’t bear the thought of letting the place go. He and his wife had moved from England, uprooting their young children for an entirely unfamiliar and uncertain life halfway around the world, and they’d scraped and saved and started _Flower Potts_ together as a family.

He’d lost Mimsie nearly two years ago, and he and the twins had been doing their best to live without her. Jeremy and Jemima were currently in London, staying with their grandparents for the summer—dividing their time between Caractacus’s eccentric father and Mimsie’s parents—and the apartment above the shop was painfully quiet at night. The sounds of the city did nothing to chase away the echoing silence of the rooms.

“We have a few deliveries,” Truly said, pulling him from his musings. “And the guy called again.”

“It’s not for sale,” Caractacus said.

“I know that, I’ve told him a dozen times.”

“There are literally hundreds of flower shops in the city, if not thousands. Surely some must _actually_ be for sale.”

“You have the best selection and customer service.”

“Please,” Caractacus said with a roll of his eyes.

“Fine,” Truly answered. “And it’s none of my nevermind but you know you could make a fortune if you wanted. Nobody around here is better with flowers than you are, especially the roses, you’re like a damn magician with those things, and—”

“They were for Mimsie,” he cut in, and Truly fell silent with a sympathetic look. “We have flowers for sale, every color imaginable. I can fill his home with plants if he’d like. But the store is not for sale.”

She held up her hands in surrender. “I’ll tell him again if he calls back.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. “I’m not myself this morning. I didn’t mean to snap. I don’t even understand why he’d want this of all places.” He sighed, doing his best to shake off the foul mood. “Well, it doesn’t matter. He needs to learn to take no for an answer. Alright, let’s take a look at our orders, shall we?”

* * *

Three days later Caractacus walked into his store and froze at the sight of the man in black leaned against the counter, clearly flirting with Truly. He was twirling his sunglasses between his fingers and had his head bent toward her. Truly, normally immune to such blatant pursuit, seemed uncharacteristically taken by his smile. There was a flush in her cheeks and a brightness in her eyes, and she ducked her head as she giggled.

 _Giggled_. 

In all the years Caractacus had known her, he’d never heard her laugh like that, even while being courted by her now-husband.

The man’s head turned slowly toward the sound of the bell, and his smile hardened a little at the sight of Caractacus; the change was barely noticeable, but Caractacus’s stomach clenched in renewed anxiety as he forced himself to cross toward the counter.

“Jack, this is Nevada,” Truly said, flashing the man in black another smile. “He’d like to speak with you—”

“Yes, I’ve been expecting this,” Caractacus said, and one of Nevada’s eyebrows ticked upward. “But if you’ve come to cause me trouble with my employer, I’m afraid you’re out of luck.” With a gesture to indicate the whole of the flower shop, he added, “I am the employer.”

“Yeah,” Nevada drawled, “I figured that out when your name was part of the store’s.”

“Oh. Right,” Caractacus said. “I didn’t know if you’d noticed.”

Nevada’s answering grin was dangerous, predatory. “I read above my weight class,” he said, which despite the accompanying dark look struck Caractacus as surprisingly funny; he barely swallowed the laugh that formed in his throat. “Damn sure your license didn’t say _Jack_ , though.”

“It’s a nickname,” Truly explained.

Nevada turned his attention back to her, leaning closer, and said, “I’m more interested in your name.” He pulled a card from his pocket and held it out between two fingers, flashing her his best smile, and Caractacus could see her _blushing_. “Stop by anytime you want.”

“She’s married,” Caractacus said.

Nevada looked at him. “She married to you?”

“What? No. Her husband—”

“Then it’s none of your business.” To Truly, he added, “Bring him along. If he’s game, I am.” He laughed at the shocked look on her face. “Or don’t, it’s cool.” He pointed at the business card she was holding. “Stop by anyway, I’ll give you a good deal.” He winked and straightened away from the counter, turning toward Caractacus. “Speakin of deals.” He pulled a folded piece of paper from inside his jacket and held it out, and Caractacus took it reluctantly. “Your bill for my car.”

“I tried to give you my insurance,” Caractacus replied indignantly, opening the paper and scanning until he saw the total cost. It wasn’t as bad as he’d feared, but he didn’t exactly have extra money to throw around.

“I don’t want your fuckin insurance. I want three hundred and fifty dollars. We both know it woulda cost a grand or more through some insurance scamming dealership bullshit. I paid him cash, you pay me cash, we never see each other again.”

Caractacus ran a hand over his face. He could refuse to pay—Nevada had been the first to leave the scene of the accident, after all, and he likely wasn’t eager to run to the police now—but Caractacus knew the collision had been his fault. Nevada had stopped at a red light, and Caractacus, lost in his own musings, had hit him. Caractacus couldn’t deny his guilt.

“Alright,” he said with a sigh. “But...I don’t have it right now.”

“The fuck you mean, open your register or write me a check, first name’s like the state but I’ll spell it real slow if you need.”

“I can’t, I’m sorry.”

“Not as sorry as you’ll be.”

“That’s the second time you threatened me, and I don’t appreciate—”

“You don’t know from threats, _muchacho_ ,” Nevada cut in, his eyes flashing as he glared at Caractacus. “Unless you want your life to get a whole lot worse, you pay me what you owe me.”

“What does that mean?”

“What I said.”

“Alright, let’s calm down,” Truly said. “Jack, if you need me to—”

“No,” Caractacus cut in before she could offer him money that he knew she couldn’t spare. He drew a breath and closed his eyes for a moment, softening his tone. “No, I’ll get you your money by the end of the week, I just need a little time to rearrange.” He didn’t like admitting it was a challenge to come up with such a small sum, but the truth was the store was barely breaking even. He’d already cut his own salary so he could keep paying Truly, and he’d severely gouged his savings in order to send his children to visit their family for the summer. 

Nevada continued to glare at him for a few seconds before smoothing his hands down the front of his jacket. “End of the week.”

“Yes, give me your number—”

“Oh, I’ll be back,” Nevada said with a humorless smile. “Don’t worry, _Tiesto_.” He offered Truly a nod and slipped his sunglasses onto his face before striding to the door and disappearing out into the afternoon sun. 

Caractacus looked at Truly and sighed, spreading his hands. “Of all the people in the city I could’ve rear-ended.”

“He’s sort of charming when he tries.”

Caractacus shook his head, walking around the counter. “I’m sure he’ll charmingly break my thumbs,” he muttered under his breath.

* * *

Caractacus woke to the sound of breaking glass, and he sat bolt upright in bed with his heart slamming in his chest. He’d already thrown back the covers before his brain registered the smoke, but he was coughing by the time his bare feet hit the floor. 

The apartment was full of it, thick dark smoke that burned his eyes and immediately clogged his throat, and he hooked an arm over his face as he stumbled out of his bedroom. The window had been shattered—there was half a brick lying on the carpet. He could see the glow of the flames, could hear the roar and crackle of the fire, and he stood frozen for long moments as realization hit him.

The shop was on fire beneath him.

 _No no no_ , he thought, unable to move as he thought of everything that would be lost. He turned toward the twins’ bedroom without thinking, coughing and choking as he started grabbing toys. Outside, he could hear sirens already, but he knew it was too late. He could _feel_ that it was too late, and a surge of panic sent him spiraling out of the bedroom with the toys falling from his arms. 

They could live without their things, but he couldn’t make them orphans. They’d lost their mother and he would not let them lose him as well. He was already feeling lightheaded, but he tried to think of the most important things to grab: wallet, cell phone; he grabbed his keys because they were beside his wallet. He slipped on his shoes and threw on a jacket over his pajamas. 

He grabbed the doorknob and instantly jerked his hand back with a yelp as he felt its heat. He wasn’t thinking clearly; of course he couldn’t go down through the shop. The shop was in flames.

The thought brought a stab of pain that stole what little breath he had, and he doubled over and dropped to his hands and knees. He gasped and coughed, squinting through the burn and blur of tears. _I’m sorry, Mims_ , he thought. _I’m so sorry._ He fumbled around for the items he’d dropped, snatching them up, and crawled until he could manage to stagger to his feet. He went into the bedroom, grabbing the framed family photo from his dresser and shoving it into his jacket pocket with the rest of his items, and threw open the window to the fire escape. 

Smoke swirled around him, sucked out into the siren-filled night. He fell onto his knees on the metal grating and doubled over coughing. He knew he had to move before the building collapsed, but he couldn’t remember where the stairs were. He couldn’t focus his eyes or his thoughts, and his lungs felt like burning coal in his chest, unable to handle anything more than the shallowest breath.

“This way, c’mere,” a voice said, and a moment later a hand grabbed Caractacus’s arm. He was too disoriented to question why the man was on his fire escape, or even if he was real; Caractacus allowed himself to be tugged and steered and suddenly found himself on the stairs. “Is anyone else inside?”

Caractacus shook his head.

“ _Piénsalo_! Is anybody—”

“No,” Caractacus croaked. 

“ _Avanza, coñazo_ ,” the voice said, and Caractacus concentrated on putting one foot below the other, clinging to the railing as he descended the stairs as quickly as his trembling body would allow. He was greeted by firemen whose faces he could barely see, and he repeated hoarsely that no one else was inside, and he let them pull him away from the fiery remains of his life.

* * *

He sat on the curb across the street, hugging his jacket around himself, as the sun struggled to climb out from behind the city. His throat was a little sore, his nose a little stuffy, his chest a little achy, but he was otherwise unhurt. At least physically. He’d been in the back of an ambulance, checked out by paramedics, but they’d let him go without taking him to the hospital.

He knew the pain and fear would come once the shock had worn off, but for now he was mostly numb. 

“Jack?” a voice called, and he blinked as though coming out of a fog as he turned his head. Truly was rushing toward him, looking horrified and frantic, and he realized he should’ve called her. He had no idea how long he’d been sitting there, watching his life literally go up in flames. What was he supposed to do? Where was he supposed to go? He’d answered the questions asked of him, but no one had answered his question, the only one he’d asked aloud.

_What do I do now?_

“I’m sorry,” he heard himself say as she dropped into a crouch beside him. “You don’t have to work this morning.”

“What happened? Oh my God. Are you hurt? Are you okay?”

“It’s gone,” he said unnecessarily, gesturing weakly toward the smoking rubble. They’d been able to minimize the damage to the neighboring buildings, but his had collapsed in on itself. 

“Are you hurt?” she repeated, running her hands over his shoulder and head. 

“No. Truly, what do I do?”

“Come home with me, for now,” she said, tugging on his arm. “We’ll figure everything out.”

He got unsteadily to his feet but swayed for a moment, staring blankly across the street. Most of the onlookers had cleared out already, and soon the fire crew would leave, too. Soon it would be nothing more than a smoldering husk surrounded by caution tape.

“They said it looks like arson,” he muttered.

“Who the hell would—You don’t think it’s that guy, do you?”

“Which guy?” he asked absently. 

“The flirty guy whose car you hit,” she said. “Nevada whatever.”

“Why would he burn down my store for three hundred dollars? Now I have...nothing…” He swallowed against the thickness of his throat. 

“I don’t know why, but he did threaten you. You should at least mention him to the cops.”

“I can’t go to your place,” he said as he realized she was leading him down the sidewalk. She was newly-married and lived in a tiny apartment that was barely big enough for one person, let alone three. 

“Of course you—”

“No,” he said, pulling his arm from her grasp as he stopped. “Thank you, Truly, but...you go home, alright? I need to...I don’t know. I need to do something.”

“You need to rest, and get something to eat.”

“Yes. Food, you’re right,” he said, as though he would ever feel like eating again. “I’ll be alright, I promise.” He had no idea if he was lying.

“You’ll call me if you need anything? Anything at all?”

He nodded, his gaze returning to the remains of his shop. “I will.”

“If you’re sure…” she said hesitantly. “Oh! Here.” She reached into her purse and rummaged around, bringing out a business card. “That Nevada guy gave it to me, thought it would be good to hold onto after the things he said. Want me to give it to the police?”

He took it from her extended hand but stared down at the black and white card, his vision blurring as he tried to read it. _Prick of the Heights_. _Tattoo Parlor_. _Nevada Ramirez._ “No, I’ll take care of it,” he said, tucking it into his coat pocket. 

* * *

There were three men in the tattoo parlor when Caractacus walked in, and all of them looked over as he stepped inside. One of them was sitting in a chair, leaned back while a second man worked on his shoulder. 

The third was also leaned back in a chair, but it was a wheeled office chair and he had his legs stretched before him with black boots crossed at the ankles. He’d lost the leather jacket and was wearing a tight black t-shirt. He was mid-laugh when he spotted Caractacus, but his smile lost most of its humor in an instant.

“Anyone order flowers?” he asked, offering a smirk and an insolent glare.

Caractacus’s pulse was pounding in his temples. He’d been sitting in his van, watching people going about their mornings as though the world hadn’t come to a screeching, fiery end, and he’d remembered something. “You were there,” he said, walking across the room.

Nevada tracked his approach but didn’t get up. “I ain’t your Auntie Em, Dorothy.”

“ _I’m not laughing_ ,” Caractacus said, barely aware of the words leaving his lips as he kicked reflexively at Nevada’s boots. He knew it was reckless but he was too upset to care. 

“ _The fuck_?” Nevada said, surging to his feet. “Can I _help you_?”

Caractacus pointed a shaky finger at Nevada’s face. “I’ll only ask you once.”

“Ask it without the finger if you wanna keep it,” Nevada growled. 

Caractacus lowered his hand but clenched it into a fist. “Did you do it?” he asked, alarmed to hear the tremor of emotion in his own voice. 

“I dunno what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“You were at the fire.” Nevada raised an eyebrow but didn’t answer, and that only fueled Caractacus’s growing rage. “I _saw you_.”

“Yeah? You saw me _where_ , _pendejo_?”

“I saw you—I saw you when I was in the ambulance and you—you were in the crowd. I told you I’d get you the money, it wasn’t even—”

“You wanna accuse me of somethin?”

Caractacus shoved Nevada with both hands, knocking him backward a couple of steps. Nevada hit the chair and sent it rolling across the floor, but he lunged forward the moment he’d gotten his footing.

The blow came from Marco, though, not Nevada. Caractacus never saw it coming, and pain exploded in his face as he reeled backward and hit the floor with a jaw-snapping jolt. He heard a thunk and the sound of breaking glass, and somewhere, distantly, barely making it through the roar of blood in his ears, he heard Nevada say, “Goddammit, Marco.”

“Sorry, _Tío_. Thought he was gonna—” 

Caractacus didn’t hear the rest of their conversation, didn’t even notice if they kept talking. With blood dripping over his lips, and pain radiating out from his tailbone, and a cold lump of dread in his stomach, he fumbled the picture frame from his coat pocket and held it in both hands, staring down at the shattered glass.

His anger was gone. 

He couldn’t process the enormity of what he’d lost, not yet, but it was beginning to press down on him, making it difficult to breathe. “I should’ve just taken his money when I had the chance,” he mumbled, more to himself than anything. 

“The hell is he talking about?”

“Who knows. It was his place that burned last night,” Nevada said. He poked Caractacus’s leg with the toe of one boot. “Get up before you bleed on my floor.”

“Oh shit, sorry man,” the guy in the chair said. 

“Get him up’n outta here before someone sees him,” Nevada told Marco.

Caractacus barely heard any of it. Two sets of hands grabbed him by the arms and hauled him to his feet. He managed to keep hold of the broken picture frame, wondering dully if his cell phone had also broken. He didn’t have a charger for it, anyway, unless he’d left one in the van. He couldn’t remember. 

He thought they were escorting him toward the exit, and when they pushed him through a doorway he stumbled and then blinked in surprise when he found himself not on the sidewalk but in a small apartment at the back of the parlor. 

There was a bed against the left wall, a weight bench, two straight-backed chairs at a small table strewn with papers, and a bookshelf filled with a mixture of English and Spanish titles. There was a dresser with several cardboard boxes on top, and a stand at the foot of the bed with a flatscreen TV, DVD player, and several game consoles, as well as a shelving unit holding games and movies. 

There was only one window, facing into a narrow alleyway and the brick building next door, but there was a variety of framed art adorning the walls. There was more art than furniture.

There was a single potted plant in the window. 

There was a tiny kitchen, an open door to Caractacus’s right that led into a small bathroom, and a closed door that likely led to a closet. The place was small but neat and comfortable, making good use of limited space. There was a family photo on top of the bookshelf, but this felt very much like the apartment of a single man.

Caractacus flinched at the sound of a door closing behind him, and he turned to find that he and Nevada were alone. “Go in the bathroom and clean up,” Nevada said, pointing toward the open door. 

Caractacus regarded him in silence for several seconds. “I think I’m not thinking clearly.”

“No shit.”

“Shock, I suppose. Although I don’t know if people recognize when they’re in shock? It could be the smoke.”

“You talk a lot.”

“I did see you, I don’t think I imagined that. But it doesn’t make any sense for you to set the fire, not unless you’re a psychopath. You wouldn’t gain anything.”

“Where’re your kids?”

“What?”

“Your kids,” Nevada said, gesturing toward the photograph in Caractacus’s hands. “Your wife. Where—”

“My children are in London for the summer...Jesus Christ, I have to tell my children,” Caractacus said, his voice trembling. “I have to—How do I tell them it’s all gone?”

“Least they still got you.”

“Someone helped me, climbed up my fire escape. Fireman, I guess.”

“Hmm. Lucky.”

“But they said it looks like arson.”

“Accuse me one more fuckin time.”

“Why were you there?”

Nevada glared at him, jaw clenched, for a moment before saying, “I was walking, saw the fire. Not a big fucking mystery. Now go in the bathroom and clean yourself up before you get blood on my rug.”

“I think I owe you an—”

“Save it. Gimme this before you cut yourself on top of everything else.” Nevada pulled the picture frame from Caractacus’s fingers and gestured with his head toward the bathroom. “ _Vamos_.”

Caractacus walked into the bathroom on legs that felt like they belonged to someone else. He found the lightswitch easily enough but immediately winced as the brightness stabbed his eyes. He looked into the mirror over the sink, staring in horror at his reflection. His mouth and chin were covered in blood, but he barely felt the pain in his nose anymore. There were dark smudges beneath his eyes and his skin was paler than usual. His hair was a mess, and he’d nearly forgotten that he was wearing his jacket over his pajamas.

He grabbed a black washcloth that was hanging over the edge of the bathtub and ran it under warm water for a few moments before using it to clean away the drying blood. His nose was tender if he prodded at it, but it wasn’t broken and the bleeding had stopped. His pajama top was a mess, though. He was going to have to buy something to wear, and find a place to stay. He didn’t want to think about how depleted his bank account had become, or what he was going to do if the insurance didn’t pay.

He sat down on the edge of the tub and drew a deep breath. He had to focus. 

“Here,” Nevada said, appearing in the doorway and tossing folded clothes onto the counter beside the sink. Caractacus looked up, surprised to realize he hadn’t closed the door behind himself. “Not mine but they should fit you. Take a shower if you want. I got an appointment, be at least an hour. Don’t fuckin break anything or go snooping.”

“Why’re you being nice after the way I showed up here?”

“Ain’t niceness, it’s pity,” Nevada said. He turned and left before Caractacus could think of a response.

Caractacus heard the door to the parlor open and close. He didn’t feel comfortable taking a shower, but he slowly and methodically cleaned himself up, wetted and smoothed his hair, and changed into the clothes Nevada had left him. The jeans were a decent fit, and Caractacus was mildly curious about whose they were. The t-shirt was gray, and Caractacus had yet to see Nevada wearing anything other than black.

He felt like an intruder when he emerged from the bathroom in the clothes of a stranger. He looked around, unsure what he was supposed to do with himself. He should leave, but he didn’t know where to go.

He’d put his wallet, phone, and keys into the pockets of the jeans, and he laid the coat and his dirty pajamas over the back of one of the wooden chairs. He crossed to the window to look at the plant. Calathea. He picked the pot up and turned to the table, pushing aside a few envelopes—bills, from the looks of them—to make room for the plant. 

He saw his picture frame on the bed and walked toward it. Nevada had cleared out the broken glass, leaving only the matted photograph inside the silver frame. Caractacus picked it up and sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at the smiling faces of his family. Tears burned his eyes, but he didn’t have the energy to cry. The momentary anger he’d felt when he’d thought Nevada was responsible for the fire was gone, but there were traces of it simmering below the surface.

And there was pain, so much pain. But draped over all of it was a blanket of numbness—of shock and exhaustion. He was smart enough to recognize the danger of clutching that blanket around himself but he wasn’t ready to give up its protection yet.

* * *

He woke with the smell of smoke in his nostrils, the thickness clogging his throat, and he shoved himself up onto his elbows in panic thinking _not again_. He made a small choked, mewling sound, blinking his eyes against the smoke.

But there wasn’t any smoke. For a few more seconds, reality was even more confusing, though. He had no idea where he was or what was happening. There was a television playing a movie in front of him, but it was muted with Spanish subtitles displayed across the bottom.

“Calm down,” a voice said directly beside him, and he turned his head to see Nevada sitting on the bed a foot away from him, leaning against the headboard and eating microwave popcorn from a bag. It wasn’t smoke that Caractacus could smell, but popcorn. 

Nevada was wearing a black tank top and boxer briefs, and nothing else, and he was sitting on top of the comforter with his bare legs spread before him.

“What— _What’re you doing in bed with me_?” Caractacus cried. He started to roll away only to realize his side of the bed was up against the wall. He could crawl to the foot of the bed and squeeze past the TV stand, or he could crawl over the headboard toward the weight bench on the other side, or he could crawl over Nevada. There was no quick or dignified way out, though.

“You’re in my bed, _pendejo_ ,” Nevada reminded him. He popped several kernels of buttered popcorn into his mouth and glared at Caractacus while he chewed. “I said take a shower, not a nap.”

“Oh,” Caractacus said, scrubbing his hands over his burning face, struggling to keep his gaze from returning to all the bare skin stretched out inches away from him. “Sorry, how—I don’t know how I fell asleep, I’m—”

“With your fuckin shoes on my bed, too.”

Caractacus stared down at his feet in horror. “Oh, God.” He really had crawled, fully dressed, up onto Nevada’s bed, hadn’t he? He’d planned on resting for a few minutes while Nevada was gone, but now he had no idea how long he’d slept. His head was pounding, and his stomach was rumbling grumpily at the smell of popcorn. And he had to piss. “What time is it?”

“Four-somethin.”

“Four _p.m._?” Caractacus asked, staring at him in horror. That couldn’t be possible. “ _Why didn’t you wake me_?”

“This is my fault, too, huh?” 

“No, I don’t—I don’t know, I’m sorry.”

“Why’d you move my plant?”

“What? What plant? Oh. It was getting too much sunlight.”

Nevada snorted. “From the alley?”

“It doesn’t take much but it’ll burn the leaves.”

“Huh.”

“You should put it somewhere near the window but not directly—”

“I’ll take it under advisement,” Nevada cut in, surprising Caractacus into silence. 

The silence stretched out, and Caractacus realized Nevada wasn’t going to make any effort to make things less awkward. Caractacus’s stomach grumbled again.

“There’s pizza in the fridge,” Nevada said without looking at him.

“Oh...thanks...um. Could you possibly move so I can get up?”

“No. Comfortable here. Your pocket was buzzing by the way.”

“Shit,” Caractacus said. “Um.” He eyed Nevada’s bare legs and shifted himself forward gingerly, looking for the least obtrusive way to crawl over them. Nevada sighed and drew his legs up, and Caractacus studiously avoided looking at the muscular backs of his thighs or the tightness of his cotton shorts as he scrambled gratefully off the bed. Nevada straightened his legs and shoved more popcorn into his mouth, staring at the television. 

Caractacus hurried toward the bathroom, fumbling his phone out of his pocket as he went. He had a missed call from his kids, and several from Truly. He sent her a quick text telling her he was fine—a lie if he’d ever told one—and shoved the bathroom door closed behind himself so he could relieve the burning pressure of a full bladder.

He wasn’t sure why Nevada had shown as much patience as he had—he didn’t strike Caractacus as a particularly patient person in general—but Caractacus needed to get the hell out of his apartment. He would add the clothes, and nap, to what he already owed the other man.

But he needed to call his children, first. He needed to let them know he was alright, but he also needed desperately to hear their voices. He hadn’t decided yet if he was going to tell them about the fire, or let them enjoy their holiday before ripping their world out from under them. Again.

He checked himself out in the mirror, smoothing his hair and making sure he looked alright. His nose looked fine, thankfully, and there were no lasting effects from being punched in the face. He rolled his shoulders and gathered his resolve, trying not to think about how long he’d be able to continue paying for their cell phones as he called.

“Daddy!” Jemima exclaimed as soon as she appeared on his screen. “Where have you _been_?”

“Sorry, poppet,” he said, blinking against the sudden sting of tears. He held his phone close to his face, hoping they wouldn’t notice the unfamiliar bathroom and ask him where he was. “You know how I lose track of time.”

Jemima laughed, and Caractacus let out a shaky breath at the sound. “Scatty, Mummy used to say!” she giggled.

In spite of the burning pain in his chest, Caractacus didn’t need to fake a smile. “That’s right,” he agreed, grinning as Jeremy squeezed into the frame with his sister. “I miss you little pips. Are you behaving for your grandparents?”

“Mostly,” Jeremy answered with an impish smile, and Caractacus laughed. 

“We went horseback riding today!” Jemima exclaimed.

An image flashed into Caractacus’s mind: a shelf full of toy and model horses, of all sizes and colors, a collection that Jemima had begun assembling at the age of three when she got her first My Little Pony and her obsession with horses really burst into life. 

Each of the children had taken a few of their favorite toys on vacation with them, and most of their clothing could be replaced. Many of the lost photographs had duplicates in England, or stored digitally. There were mementos that were gone forever, remnants of Mimsie’s life that Caractacus had been doing his best not to think about. They still had their memories, after all.

But Jemima’s horses were gone. While his daughter chattered happily on about how much fun she’d had that day, all Caractacus could think about was the pain she would feel when she realized what she’d lost.

“Daddy, are you alright?” she asked, breaking into his musings as she peered at her screen.

“Of course, I’m just a little tired is all. Speaking of, what time is it? It must be very late, why are you still up?”

“We were waiting for you to call, Grandmum’n’pop said it was alright.”

“I’m sorry it took me so long to answer you. Did you brush your teeth?”

“Yes,” they answered in unison.

“Scrub the horse sweat off yourselves?”

They laughed and nodded. 

“Then I’ll let you get to bed and talk to you tomorrow. I love you very much, you know that, don’t you?”

“Yes. We love you, too,” Jemima said.

“Can you sing the song, Daddy?” Jeremy asked.

“Oh, not tonight, Rem,” Caractacus said, but the matching looks of disappointment on their faces were too much for his battered heart. “Alright, but just a chorus and you two get straight off to bed, yes?” He smiled at their excited nods and drew a deep breath before quietly singing a few lines of the lullaby their mother had once sung them at bedtime. Then he made cheerful kissing noises, which they laughingly mimicked, before telling them again that he loved them and sending them off to bed. 

As soon as the video call was ended, he set his phone on the counter and took a stumbling step backward. He bent, fumbling behind himself as he felt for the edge of the tub, but he missed it and found himself sitting on the bathmat instead. He leaned against the side of the bathtub, the cold immediately seeping through his t-shirt, and drew a ragged breath.

It left him as a sob, and then there was no stopping the tears. He drew up his knees and dropped his head onto his arms, sobbing as quietly as possible as he thought about everything that was gone, and how he was going to have to devastate his children with that truth. He no longer had a home for them to return to, and he wasn’t even sure if could or should try to rebuild.

He also mourned the flowers and plants, many of which had taken months or years to cultivate and could not be easily replaced. He cried for the fact that he could no longer offer Truly the security of a paycheck.

But there was one thing that kept him from completely drowning in the grief and fear; it was the same thing that had kept him breathing through the worst pain of his life after his wife’s death. It was the knowledge that his children were safe. They were and always would be the most important thing in his world, and he would move heaven and earth to provide for them. He would work whatever jobs he needed, do whatever had to be done. He would figure it out. Giving up was not an option.

He got control of himself gradually, reminding himself that it made no sense to try to figure everything out right away. There were far too many unknowns, and his brain was still processing the shock and trauma. What he needed to do was put one foot in front of the other—deal with one problem at a time. 

He splashed water on his face before leaving the bathroom, but there was nothing he could do about the red puffiness around his eyes or the fact that Nevada had surely heard him crying.

Nevada was sitting on the edge of the bed, but he was wearing jeans. Caractacus could see the hint of a tattoo peeking out from beneath the edges of the tank top at the other man’s shoulder, but couldn’t see enough to identify the pattern.

Caractacus spotted his framed photograph on the floor beside the bed and he walked over to pick it up. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. Sorry for hitting your car because you wouldn’t even know me if that hadn’t happened.” He plucked the frame from the carpet and straightened, meeting Nevada’s eyes for a moment before turning to walk toward his dirty clothes on the chairback. “Sorry for accusing you of arson—” 

“Why’d you think I did that?”

“You said my life would get a whole lot worse if I didn’t pay you for the car.”

“I meant I’d keep showing up and bug the shit outta you, not that I’d fuckin _kill_ you—I saw the picture in your wallet, y’know, you think I had a way to know your wife and kids weren’t up there with you? I might not like you but—”

“Do you think someone was trying to kill me?”

“Well they weren’t tryin real hard _not_ to.”

“Why would anyone…”

“No offense but you are a pain in the ass.”

Caractacus snorted. “No offense.”

Nevada hesitated. “What was the shit about taking someone’s money?”

“There’s a man who’s been calling for...I don’t even know how long now, more than a year, trying to buy my shop. It’s not for sale.” Caractacus paused and swallowed before amending, “Wasn’t for sale.”

“He make you a good offer?”

“He said money was no object and I could name my price.”

“Shit, why not take it and open a new place—”

“The flowers were for Mimsie,” Caractacus said, and Nevada fell silent. “All of it was for her, for our family. Anyway, he’s never been rude or threatening as far as Truly’s said, so I have no reason to suspect him of arson.”

“I didn’t do it.”

Caractacus smiled. “No, I know. You may not be the nicest guy—”

“The fuck you mean? I’m Mr. Congeniality.”

“Why were you in bed in your underwear at four o’clock?”

“Thought I’d turn in early.”

“Not a little bit just to mess with me?”

Nevada grinned.

“I’d say something about you knowing how vulnerable I was feeling—”

“You say something about a lot.”

“But all things considered you’ve been...generous.”

Nevada grimaced like the word was distasteful. “Wasn’t trying to eavesdrop but it didn’t sound like you told your kids?”

“I couldn’t do it. Not yet. I need to make sure I can look them in the eyes and tell them everything will be alright...and actually believe it. They deserve that.” He paused. “Sorry for whatever else you heard.”

“Eh, the singing wasn’t _that_ bad,” Nevada joked, and Caractacus smiled. “So...your wife, is she…”

“Gone.”

“Sorry.”

“Anyway, I’ll get out of your way.”

“Where’re you going?”

“It’s warm enough that I can sleep in my van for tonight. I’ll have to figure out something for the short-term—”

“Don’t do that. Who knows if someone out there’s got it in for you. Look, I obviously don’t got a lot of room here, but let me get you a place for the night. Won’t be The Ritz but it won’t charge by the hour, either.”

“I can’t ask you—”

“Don’t make me regret trying to be nice,” Nevada said. “When you get back on your feet you can add it to what you owe me for the car.”

“I don’t think I’ll have that by the end of the week,” Caractacus said with a small smile.

“Yeah, I ain’t holdin my breath,” Nevada answered, earning a chuckle from Caractacus. “Also not taking no for an answer.” He walked over to the door and pulled it open, calling, “Angelo?”

“Yeah, boss?” a man answered a few seconds later, appearing in the short hallway between the apartment and the tattoo parlor. 

“Can you give my friend here a ride on your way home?”

“Sure,” Angelo answered, looking past Nevada at Caractacus. He ran his gaze over the florist’s clothes but didn’t comment further. 

Turning back to Caractacus, Nevada said, “I’ll get a room in my name and he’ll drop you off. Just in case someone’s watching your van.”

“I should probably refuse,” Caractacus said, gathering up his meager belongings. It wasn’t as though he had no money; he was simply afraid to spend it on unnecessary things when he had no idea what the future would hold. He could sleep in his van, or he could find a bed in a shelter. Or he could even sleep on Truly’s floor.

But for whatever reason, Nevada was offering to help him, and Caractacus was grateful for it.

* * * 

Caractacus felt better when he emerged from the hot shower. He ran his fingers through his hair to slick it back, doing his best not to think about the combs and brushes that had been lost to the fire. He redressed in the clothes he’d gotten from Nevada; he might sleep in his underwear, but it was too early to turn in for the night. He was going to need to get something to eat, and find a charger for his phone. It would be completely dead before morning, otherwise.

He paused in the middle of pulling on his shoes, looking toward the sound of a knock on the door. He finished slipping on his shoe and rose from the edge of the bed to walk over and check the peephole. He didn’t know the man in the hallway, but he opened the door anyway. “Yes?” he asked, managing a polite smile.

The man’s gaze raked down Caractacus’s body. “Angelo swore you weren’t fucking but you’re even wearing his clothes.”

Caractacus blinked. “I—Excuse me?”

“Is he here?”

“Angelo? He merely gave me a ride—”

“I’ll bet,” the man said. He glanced to his right and two other men stepped into view. Caractacus’s stomach clenched with sudden apprehension and he took a startled step backward. He tried to push the door closed but one of the men slammed a palm against the surface, forcing it open. “Did you know he asked me to marry him?” The guy stepped through the doorway with the other two men immediately flanking him, and Caractacus backed further into the room with a hand held up. “Then just broke it off, no explanation. I knew he was fucking you even if he said—” 

“There’s been a mistake here,” Caractacus said, casting a quick look at the man’s large friends. “I only met Angelo this evening, he gave me a lift—”

“Don’t fuckin lie to me!” the man shouted, spittle flying from his lips as he advanced toward Caractacus. The door clicked shut behind the three men, and Caractacus’s fingers twitched as he debated whether or not to go for his cell phone. It would be quicker to grab the room phone and call the front desk, but he doubted he’d have enough time even for that. “He’s been workin for you for years! Before I even met him!”

“I don’t—Oh,” Caractacus said, finally realizing what was happening. They thought he was Nevada—and it seemed likely Nevada _was_ sleeping with Angelo, or at least had, since Caractacus was apparently wearing Angelo’s clothes that had been left in Nevada’s apartment. “I’m not—” He stopped, casting a quick glance between the other two men’s stony faces, and sighed in resignation.

* * *

Nevada found the door propped open with the security bar, and he cautiously pushed the door inward and looked into the room. Caractacus was sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hand, but he looked up at the sound of the door opening. He had bloody tissues hanging out of his nostrils, a split lip, and a bruise darkening beneath one eye.

“Jesus, you’re having a bad day,” Nevada muttered as he walked into the room.

“Things really haven’t been going well since I met you,” Caractacus said. His voice was thick and rough but held no malice, and there was no anger or accusation in his face as he peered up at Nevada. “But today is definitely the worst.”

“Why’s the door open? Hoping they’d come back?”

“I asked room service to bring me some things and I didn’t want to have to get up. Why’re you here?”

“Hector called Angelo, told him not to bother coming back here. Said he’d bribed the front desk to get...my room number and made sure I wasn’t, uh...pretty anymore,” Nevada said, grimacing as he surveyed Caractacus’s face. The damage wasn’t too bad; nothing was broken, and he hadn’t lost any teeth. His eye wasn’t even that swollen, despite the shiner forming beneath. Nevada was afraid to ask what injuries might be hidden beneath the bloody t-shirt, though.

“Yeah, it appears he thought I was you,” Caractacus said. He reached up and plucked the tissues from his nose, sniffing gingerly as he tossed them in the nearby trash can. “Sorry I got blood on your shirt. Or...Angelo’s shirt, I guess.”

“Why didn’t you tell him? Show him your driver’s license—”

“No reason both of us should have a shitty day.”

“I don’t understand. Why the _hell_ would you get beat up to protect me?”

“I really do not know,” Caractacus said with a tired sigh. “It felt like the right thing to do at the time.”

Nevada cleared his throat. “How bad’re you hurt?”

Caractacus shrugged a shoulder. “I’ll live.”

“They didn’t...do anything else…”

It took Caractacus a few seconds to understand what Nevada was asking. “Oh. No. Just some kicks to the ribs and—” He gestured toward his own face. “Although for what it’s worth, one of them might be pissing sitting down for awhile.”

Nevada raised his eyebrows. “You fought back?”

“Of course I fought back,” Caractacus said. “Hector’s face isn’t so pretty anymore, either.”

Nevada laughed. “Hector’s face was never pretty, though I’m glad to say I never saw him up close.”

“Hmm. Angelo traded up, I’d say.”

Nevada waved a dismissive hand, although he looked a tad embarrassed. “Angelo’s a friend who works for me. That’s it.”

“You never slept with him?”

“I didn’t say that. What, you never fuck your friends? What about that pretty girl that worked in your store?”

“No. Although to be fair, I haven’t slept with anyone since I lost my wife.”

“How long’s that been?”

“Two years.”

“Jesus. That’s a lot of jerkin off in the shower.”

Caractacus offered a small but genuine smile despite his fattened lip. “None of that, either.” He got slowly and carefully to his feet, wincing at the protests from his body. “Look, I appreciate the room—”

“It got you beat up.”

“—and you coming to check on me—”

“You need a doctor? You’re moving like you do.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You’re not sure?”

“I need something to eat. And a charger for my phone. And a time machine.”

Nevada shifted his weight to fish into one tight pocket of his jeans, and pulled out a cord with the plug still attached. “Forgot. Brought you this, figured you could use it.”

“That was very thoughtful,” Caractacus said as he took the charger, eyeing Nevada in surprise. 

“I got some other stuff,” Nevada said, looking uncomfortable. He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Left it in the car ‘cause I wasn’t sure...if you were okay or what.”

“Or if I’d slam the door in your face?” Caractacus guessed with a smile. 

“That too.”

“I can see you feel guilty, Nevada, but what’s done is done. I’ve been making poor decisions all day, not least when I tried to accuse you of burning down my home and business.”

“You sure you don’t got a concussion?”

Caractacus laughed and ran a hand through his still-damp hair. “Not entirely. Why?”

“You just seem...I don’t know, like you’re taking things pretty well.”

“My children are safe, and I’m alive. I can deal with anything else.”

“Might not wanna tempt fate,” Nevada murmured, looking him over. He sighed. “I think you should come back to my place.”

Caractacus opened his mouth and closed it, clearly surprised. “Why?” he finally asked. 

“Feel like if I leave you here you might fall out the window or something. Then get run over by a bus. Besides which you look like you’re hurt more’n you wanna say and I don’t know if you should be left alone.”

“Gonna nurse me back to health?” Caractacus teased with a smile.

Nevada scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. “On second thought maybe I push you out the window myself.”

Caractacus laughed again. “You try hard not to let on you’re a nice guy, huh?”

“Nah, it comes natural.”

“I’ll pretend I believe you.” Caractacus sighed and looked around. “I do feel like I could use a friend, though.” He cut his gaze back to Nevada. “It’s a shame you and I didn’t meet under better circumstances.”

“Better than you crashing into my car like an asshole?”

“Right. Maybe we can still be friends?”

“Depends on how much you charged to room service.”

“Even though you’ve already warned you like to have sex with your friends.”

“Warned?”

“Did you sleep with Marco, too? Because he’s already hit me once.”

“Marco’s _mi sobrino_ —nephew. What do you mean, ‘even though?’”

“Oh? Well no wonder he was protective, then.”

“Are you saying you wanna fuck me?” Nevada asked, flashing his teeth in a grin even though his forehead was creased with uncertainty.

“I’m saying I don’t want to be alone.”

“Mm. Well, that sounds like less fun but okay.”

“Yeah? Well. You wanna stay here? You already paid for the room, it could be like a one-night vacation. Room service, someone else worrying about laundry…”

“There’s only one bed.”

“There’s only one bed in your apartment.”

“Sure, but it’s my bed.”

“How often do you change your sheets?”

Nevada considered for a moment before grinning broadly. “Often enough for me but prob’ly not for you.” He paused. “Hey, might be a nice change takin it easy for a night. All that sex can get exhausting.” He put his hands against his back and made a show of stretching.

Caractacus rolled his eyes. “I’m sure.”

“I brought you some clothes and toothbrush and shit, I’ll go get it. You wanna order me _bistec y huevos_ from room service?”

“Is that...steak and eggs?”

“Medium-rare. Sunny side up. And the cheapest beer they got.”

“I’ll...make an inquiry,” Caractacus said, and Nevada was chuckling when he turned away.

* * *

“You keep shifting around like you got a stick up your ass—and not in a good way,” Nevada remarked around a mouthful of steak. They were sitting in the two chairs at the small table, and while the chairs were padded they afforded little comfort for Caractacus’s battered body.

“Little sore,” Caractacus admitted. He’d taken a mixture of Tylenol and aspirin, sent up with room service, and was hoping it would kick in soon. Nevada had casually offered to scrounge up ‘something stronger,’ but Caractacus had declined without asking for details. 

“Maybe try the bed.”

“Politeness dictates I eat at the table with you,” Caractacus said, dunking the last corner of his sandwich into his soup before popping it into his mouth. 

Nevada snorted in amusement. “Who orders grilled cheese sandwiches from room service, anyway? You shoulda got something worth the effort.”

“Someone who isn’t paying for the meal,” Caractacus answered after he’d swallowed. He took a sip of tea, regarding Nevada. “And I feel a lot better. Thank you for this.”

“Shit, you’re a cheap date.” Nevada leaned back and took a swig of beer, holding the neck of the bottle as he gestured with it. “You don’t drink beer, either?”

Caractacus wrinkled his nose. “Beer tastes like wee.”

Nevada’s brows went up in surprise and he threw his head back, laughing. Caractacus found himself grinning in response to Nevada’s laughter, not caring if it was directed at him. “Wee,” Nevada repeated, air-saluting Caractacus with the bottle before taking another swallow. He laughed again, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he regarded Caractacus across the small table. “You never get drunk? Cause I gotta say, after a day like today...you might wanna consider it.”

“I’ve been,” Caractacus answered. “I just don’t like beer. I’m going to go change.” He started gathering up his dishes, and Nevada waved a hand.

“I’ll get it. Go change, then.” Nevada watched Caractacus get carefully to his feet. “Don’t change too much, though,” he added, grinning when Caractacus shot him a startled look. Nevada raised the bottle to his lips. “You’re blushing,” he noted before taking a sip.

“Yes, well. I’m not used to…” He waved a hand in Nevada’s direction. “Handsome people flirting with me.”

“That’s a shame. But thanks for the compliment,” Nevada added with a wink.

* * *

Caractacus heard a knock on the door when he was finishing up in the bathroom, and he felt a moment of apprehension before he heard Nevada thanking someone. He must’ve ordered more room service, although Caractacus hadn’t heard him make a call; he’d probably been brushing his teeth.

Nevada must’ve bribed them, too, because they’d arrived much quicker than when Caractacus had ordered.

He stepped out of the bathroom in the sweatpants and clean t-shirt Nevada had brought for him to sleep in and stopped dead in his tracks when he found Nevada stripping in the middle of the room. Nevada, half-naked as he tugged the jeans from his ankle, looked up in surprise and cursed under his breath as he grabbed for the pair of sweats on the bed.

Caractacus averted his gaze as soon as he realized he was staring, and he turned in an awkward half-circle. His throat clicked as he swallowed, and he tried to ignore the sudden heat blooming in his belly. “S-sorry,” he stammered.

“Thought you’d be a couple more minutes,” Nevada muttered. “Don’t worry, it was an accident.”

“I’m not worried,” Caractacus answered a little too quickly. 

“You don’t have to keep staring at the wall, I’m decent.”

Caractacus turned slowly, feeling a strange mixture of relief and disappointment to find Nevada in sweats and a t-shirt. “Not sleeping in your underwear?” he asked, immediately cursing himself for the question. 

“I usually sleep in nothing,” Nevada said, arching a brow, “but I’m trying to be polite.”

“Was someone at the door?”

Nevada shifted and gestured toward the table. Their dirty dishes had been cleared away and in their place sat two obscenely-large ice cream sundaes—and a bottle of peppermint Schnapps. “Figured after the day you had, you could use some ice cream.”

Caractacus was alarmed to feel tears pricking his eyes. “That is...very sweet of you,” he said, and Nevada fidgeted nervously. “And the Schnapps?”

“You seem like the kinda guy who might like the taste of _bastones de menta_.”

Caractacus laughed. “You trying to get me drunk?”

“ _Sí_.”

“I already brushed my teeth,” Caractacus lamented as he walked over to look at the sundaes. One seemed slightly larger than the other, and he reached for the smaller of the two. “But I couldn’t possibly let this go to waste,” he added. 

Nevada picked up the other sundae and pulled the first from Caractacus’s hand, replacing it with the larger serving. “You care if I take the right side of the bed?”

Caractacus licked at his split lip, noting the way Nevada’s gaze darted toward the movement. “Not at all,” he murmured. “I prefer the left.”

“Good.” Nevada tore his stare away from the other man’s mouth and walked over to the bed, setting his sundae on the nightstand. “I’ll be right out.”

While Nevada was in the bathroom, Caractacus put his own ice cream and liquor on the other nightstand and folded back the covers. He fluffed a pillow against the headboard and slipped in between the cool sheets, pulling the blankets up over his waist. He grabbed the bottle and unscrewed the lid, sniffing at the minty liquor before taking a cautious sip. He’d never had the stuff before, but he was surprised to find he liked it—despite the lingering toothpaste in his mouth. He took a larger swallow, because he didn’t think getting pissed was such a terrible idea. It would help him sleep by giving his mind a chance to stop obsessing about the current ruins of his life.

“Might wanna go easy,” Nevada said as he emerged from the bathroom. “Stuff tastes like candy but hits like a train.”

“Mm. Noted,” Caractacus said, setting the bottle aside and picking up his ice cream. “Lord, this looks good.”

Nevada chuckled as he rounded the bed. “Hope you’re not allergic to nuts.”

“I have no allergies,” Caractacus said, spooning ice cream into his mouth and humming in appreciation. He looked sideways at Nevada. “You?”

“I’m allergic to coconut.” Nevada hesitated for a moment before sliding into bed. He grabbed the remote and turned on the television. “Wanna watch something?”

“Anything funny.” Caractacus ate his ice cream, watching Nevada search through stations until he found a movie that was just beginning. 

“I dunno what this is,” Nevada said, setting the remote on the bed to grab his own melting sundae.

“It’s perfect,” Caractacus answered, smiling when Nevada cast him an amused—and slightly exasperated—look. “I think I’m a little buzzed already.”

“From one drink?” Nevada laughed.

“Fair warning, I get talkative and giggly when I’m blathered.”

“How’ll I tell the difference?” 

“And then I fall asleep.”

“Long as I don’t have to worry about you running naked in the halls or anything.”

“Sadly, no.”

“Sadly?”

“For you, I mean,” Caractacus said with a grin.

Nevada laughed. “Eat your ice cream, _Tiesto_.”

“What does that mean?”

“Flowerpot,” Nevada answered, staring at the television.

“Is it meant to be an insult?”

Nevada paused a few beats, still not looking at him. “Not anymore,” he finally said. 

Caractacus reached for the Schnapps and took another drink.

“I’ll stop saying it.”

“I don’t mind it,” Caractacus answered. 

* * *

Caractacus woke to find himself wrapped around Nevada, hugging him like a heated body pillow. Nevada was on his back, one arm pinned beneath Caractacus. His breaths were slow and even, but any hope Caractacus had of slipping away without waking him were dashed when he cautiously lifted his head to find Nevada looking at him. Caractacus’s stomach fluttered at the unexpected eye contact.

“Mornin, sweetheart,” Nevada drawled in a low voice, his lips slanting into a smirk.

“Sorry,” Caractacus said as heat rushed to his face. “God, I’m—sorry.” He rolled away onto his back and then immediately grimaced, levering himself up so Nevada could remove his arm from under him. Then he flopped back against his pillow and groaned. “That’s embarrassing.”

“Don’t beat yourself up. I’m irresistible,” Nevada said.

Caractacus offered a small huff of laughter and turned his head to look at the other man. “Why didn’t you shove me off?”

“You’re cute when you sleep,” Nevada answered, flashing his teeth in a smile. “Despite the black eye.” 

Caractacus knew he was teasing but still felt a pleasant wiggle in his gut at the compliment. Nevada yawned and scratched idly at his stomach, the movement hiking his shirt a little higher to expose a strip of belly and the dark line of hair disappearing beneath the sheet. Caractacus tore his gaze away from the slight bulge tenting the sheet, his face flaming hotter than ever. 

“Don’t take it personal,” Nevada said, and Caractacus forced his eyes back to the other man’s. “Not used to waking up with someone all over me.” Before Caractacus could think of a response, Nevada rolled away and swung himself out of bed. “Anyway, glad you’re finally up ‘cause I gotta piss. Gonna take a shower so if you need in the bathroom first you better hurry. I got’n appointment at 9.”

“People get tattoos at 9am?” Caractacus asked as Nevada disappeared into the bathroom.

“Sure. It’s gonna take a while, too.” He’d left the door open, and Caractacus could hear the sound of him peeing as he spoke. “You can watch if you want.”

“What?” Caractacus asked, trying not to think about Nevada wrestling with an unwanted erection a short distance away.

“The tat,” Nevada answered, his next words proving that he’d easily read Caractacus’s train of thought: “You can watch whatever else you want, too.”

“Oh, I’ve never seen anyone getting a tattoo,” Caractacus said, pushing himself out of bed with a grimace at all the aches and pulls. He was sore, but still convinced nothing was broken. His head was thudding dully, but he didn’t feel terribly hungover, either. He hadn’t finished the Schnapps, although he could remember laughing too much at a stupid movie before curling up and falling asleep. “That sounds very interesting.”

Nevada laughed quietly, and a moment later Caractacus heard him turn on the shower. Caractacus stood beside the bed and pulled his t-shirt up, craning to see the dark bruises spread across his ribs. He prodded gingerly with his fingers, gritting his teeth against the pain. 

“Prob’ly be boring, actually,” Nevada said, startling Caractacus as he came out of the bathroom. 

He let the shirt fall down over his bruises, but after a moment’s hesitation Nevada crossed over to him and pulled the shirt back up. Caractacus’s breath caught in his chest as he watched Nevada frown at the dark marks, and his stomach squirmed when Nevada ran his fingers over the bruises. His touch was surprisingly gentle, his fingertips warm against Caractacus’s skin. 

Nevada’s dark gaze flicked up to Caractacus’s, catching him off guard, and for several seconds neither of them moved. Caractacus couldn’t breathe, and all of his pain was forgotten as he felt the comforting heat spreading outward from Nevada’s touch. 

Then Nevada cleared his throat and stepped back, letting the shirt fall into place. “But you’re welcome to watch anyway,” he said as though there’d been no break in the conversation. “Go piss so I can take a shower.”

* * *

“May I look at this?” Caractacus asked, pointing at the portfolio Nevada had tossed onto the bed while searching for a specific sketch pad. Nevada glanced over and shrugged, continuing to rummage through a box of drawing pads, notebooks, and portfolios on the floor. He was on his knees, sitting back on the heels of his boots. 

They’d been back at his place for only a few minutes after grabbing breakfast burritos, and Nevada seemed distracted as he prepared himself for the upcoming tattoo appointment. 

Caractacus sat on the edge of the bed and flipped through the pages of artwork, growing more impressed with each design. “You did all of these?”

“Mm.” He’d apparently found what he was looking for, and he set a sketchbook aside before replacing everything else into the box. 

“You’re very good,” Caractacus said.

Nevada rose to his feet. “I know,” he answered. To temper the conceit of the statement, however, he spread his arms to indicate his tiny apartment and added: “That’s why I’m living the rich life, here.”

“How many tattoos do you have?”

“Three.”

“I know there’s one on your shoulder…”

“You prob’ly saw the one on my hip when you found me bareass naked.”

Caractacus smiled. “I, um...didn’t notice, actually.” When Nevada shot him a grin, Caractacus cleared his throat and added: “Three doesn’t seem like very many for a tattoo artist.”

Still grinning, Nevada gestured toward himself and said, “Why mess with perfect?”

Caractacus set the portfolio in the box with the others. “Fair point,” he allowed. “From what I saw,” he added as he got to his feet. “You think I should get one? In your opinion as an artist?”

Nevada stepped closer, sliding his gaze down Caractacus’s body. “I don’t know. I’d have to see the canvas,” he said, his voice silky and low, and Caractacus felt a warm shiver down his spine. 

“How badly does it hurt?”

Nevada’s smile was surprisingly soft. “I can be gentle.” 

Caractacus swallowed, his gaze slipping to Nevada’s lips, and the desire to kiss that smile was overwhelming. He tried to think of something clever to say, something flirty or sexy, but his mind was blank. “I’ll think about it,” he managed.

Nevada regarded him for another few seconds before stepping back, and Caractacus had to fight the urge to follow him, to chase his warmth. “If you still wanna watch, I’ll ask if he cares but I’m sure he won’t. I wasn’t kidding about it being boring.”

Caractacus cleared his throat, trying to get control of his racing heart and the heat crawling out of his collar. He was wearing another loaner t-shirt from Nevada, although he was pretty sure this one, despite being bright green, actually belonged to Nevada and not some former lover. Caractacus could scarcely imagine Nevada in such a bright color, but that only made him realize how little he knew the other man despite sharing a bed with him the night before.

“I doubt watching you could ever be boring.”

Nevada tipped his head a little, and for a moment he looked like he was going to ask something. Then he smiled instead and gestured, and Caractacus followed him out of the apartment and into the tattoo parlor where 90s grunge rock was blaring out of a speaker in the corner. 

Caractacus was right: there was nothing boring about watching Nevada work. In fact it was strangely comforting. Despite the small frown that occasionally creased his forehead, Nevada seemed completely at ease in his skin and confident in his skill. He was beautiful, and Caractacus found himself pondering his own surprising attraction to Nevada.

Being attracted to men was nothing new for Caractacus. Mimsie had known—he’d held no secrets from her—just as she’d known for certain that it didn’t matter how many men or women he found attractive. He had little experience before meeting her and none since. He’d met a few people over the past year who’d made him wonder if he might not be ready to start dating, but in the end he’d never felt compelled to try. And one-night stands would never be his style.

But he wanted Nevada in a way he hadn’t wanted anyone since his wife’s passing. It wasn’t merely a physical attraction. Something about Nevada called to him, made Caractacus want to talk to him for hours and learn every detail about his life, hear his every thought and feeling. As improbable as it seemed, Caractacus thought that for the first time since Mimsie, he’d found someone that he could actually fall in love with—with a little bit of time. 

Nevada wasn’t the dating and marriage type, though, from what Caractacus had gathered. And the very last thing Caractacus wanted was to try to change him, even if he could. It would be selfish to even consider inviting someone into his life while it was in shambles. He was still trying to gather the resolve to go sift through the rubble of his shop and home looking for salvageable items, and he had to tell his children and their grandparents. He had to find a way to support himself and his kids, and a place to stay. Nevada seemed to assume Caractacus would stay with him, at least for the night, and Caractacus felt that it would be surprisingly easy to settle in. After returning from the hotel, Nevada’s small apartment had already felt strangely like home.

And Caractacus was comfortable with Nevada. There were certainly moments of awkwardness and uncertainty, mostly stemming from Caractacus’s attraction to Nevada and being unsure if Nevada felt the same or if he merely flirted with everyone, but even in the awkwardness he was _comfortable_. He didn’t feel the need to hide himself or his embarrassment.

Caractacus watched Nevada and wondered if things might’ve been different if they’d met some other time, or in some other life. 

And he wondered if he might not be able to act on his physical attraction, even knowing it would never lead to anything more.

* * *

“Sorry I don’t got more furniture,” Nevada said. He was leaned against the headboard, one leg drawn up and bent beneath the other, remote control resting on his thigh. He looked at Caractacus, who was sitting beside him on the bed with his own knee leaned against the wall. The television was on but currently showing nothing but the menu. 

“This is fine,” Caractacus answered with a smile. He wanted to inch closer, wanted to see how Nevada would react if he simply snuggled up to his side and rested his head on the other man’s shoulder. 

“Don’t got a lot of food, either. Been meaning to go to the store.” Nevada searched Caractacus’s face for a few moments. “Want me to order something?”

“I can cook something if you’d like,” Caractacus offered. “I’m good at making meals out of scant ingredients.”

“Scant,” Nevada murmured. “I like the way you talk.” He grimaced and cleared his throat. “The accent, or whatever,” he added with a dismissive wave of his hand. Noting Caractacus’s speculative look, he frowned. “What?”

“Nothing,” Caractacus said. He shook his head, looked at the TV, and said, “I was just realizing. I think this is the longest it’s ever been without…” He paused, because it felt a little like a betrayal to talk about someone else’s sex life, even if it was someone he’d never met. “Never mind.”

“Well come on, now you got my interest up,” Nevada said, bumping his knee against Caractacus’s thigh. “ _Dilo, Tiesto_.”

“I don’t know why, it just occurred to me that I haven’t felt my...well, soulmate, or whatever. It’s never been this long.”

“You’re thinking about sex right now?” Nevada asked, cocking an eyebrow, and Caractacus glanced at him with a shy smile. Nevada grew serious, hesitating for long moments, and Caractacus suddenly knew what the man was going to ask before he spoke: “Tell me to fuck off, but wasn’t your wife—”

“I loved her. I love her,” Caractacus cut in, his voice sharp, and Nevada fell silent. Caractacus paused, drawing a breath. He couldn’t blame Nevada; Caractacus had been the one to bring up the subject, after all. “I’ll always love her,” he said softly. “But no. I always felt someone else out there, and so did she. We didn’t talk about it much. We chose each other, and I would give _anything_ to have her back.”

“Fair ‘nough,” Nevada said. After another pause, he said, “Must be annoying, having to know every time they fuck someone. Especially if it’s all the time like that.”

“Honestly, good for them, right?” Caractacus said, and Nevada was clearly surprised by the sincerity. “I mean, I don’t know who they are, but I hope they’re enjoying—Wait, what do you mean it must be annoying? You feel the same thing?”

“Nope,” Nevada said with a quick smile. “Don’t got one.”

“Don’t...Everyone has a soulmate?”

“Well. Must be dead.” Nevada shrugged, although his nonchalance wasn’t quite as convincing as he seemed to think. “Or a monk. Either way no good to me.”

“Not everyone has sex. Maybe your soulmate is asexual, or...or just inactive…Don’t you have, like...a sense about them being out there?”

“He used to have sex, but like I said. Pretty sure he’s dead. For the best, the last thing I need’s someone trying to tell me what and who I can’t do.”

“That’s not what it’s…” Caractacus studied him for a moment. “Haven’t you ever been in love before?”

Nevada cocked an eyebrow. “What do you think?”

“I think that’s sad.”

“Sad?” Nevada scoffed. “I can fuck who I want, when I want. Why would I wanna give that up?”

“There’s more to life than sex.”

“Spoken like a man not gettin any.”

Caractacus looked away. “There’s something to be said for only sharing yourself with one person.”

“Yeah and that something is boring.” Nevada considered the other man. “You really not fucking _anyone_?”

“Please stop saying fuck.”

Nevada suddenly grinned. “I’ll stop saying it if you say it again.”

“What? Why?” Caractacus asked, alarmed to feel a hint of heat creeping out of his collar. 

Nevada shrugged. “Like the way it sounds.”

“Fine. Fuck,” Caractacus said. “I’m not a prude,” he added quickly, despite the sudden blush staining his cheeks. “And it’s not like I haven’t thought about it. I know Mimsie’s gone, and I know she’d want me to have a life. But I’ve never met anyone who felt...right.”

“Jesus, it don’t gotta feel _right_ , just has to feel _good_.” He paused before dragging a deliberate gaze down Caractacus’s body, smirking when Caractacus squirmed a bit under his appraisal. “Be happy to prove it if you wanna break the dry spell.”

Caractacus swallowed, staring at him. “Are you saying you want to fuck me?”

Nevada laughed, nudging Caractacus’s ribs with his knuckles. “There ya go, _Tiesto_. I’m rubbin off on you already.”

“I don’t…”

“Relax, I was only—Wait, are you really considering it?”

“No. I mean...I’ve never been with a man before.”

“Hmm. I was gonna say it’s not that different but I guess it would be on your end.”

“On my end. You mean because I’d be...receiving…”

“Fuh—I mean Christ. Yeah. Look, it was just a joke, if you’re not into guys—”

“I didn’t say that.”

Nevada stopped, blinking in surprise. 

“I only said I never have. I do find you attractive—personality aside.”

Nevada snorted. “Lucky for you I like mouthy.”

“I’ve never done that, either,” Caractacus quipped.

Nevada groaned and closed his eyes for a moment. “Damn it, look what you did,” he said, pointing at his own lap where his fly was even more distended than usual. He opened his eyes and speared Caractacus with a look that made heat flare low in the florist’s stomach. “Don’t usually go for virgin mouths, but I wouldn’t say no to yours.”

Caractacus smiled, sliding a hand over in an attempt to cover his own growing arousal. “I’m flattered,” he said, which wasn’t untrue even though he got the distinct impression Nevada wasn’t choosy about who he took to bed. 

Nevada rolled his eyes. “I say I’d let you suck my dick and you say you’re flattered.”

“I was wondering.” Caractacus licked his lip; the split was almost healed already, although it was still a little tender. “About how you said you sometimes sleep with your friends? Does that, um...I mean, that doesn’t ruin the friendships, then?”

“Not if everyone knows what it is.”

“Sex without feelings,” Caractacus suggested, wondering if he were even capable of such a thing.

Nevada frowned and looked down for a moment, fidgeting with the remote. “Not _no_ feelings,” he finally said. “Just—”

“I understand, honesty is key,” Caractacus said, and Nevada’s eyes climbed back up to his. “With that in mind...what would you say if I offered you a proposition?” 

“What kind of proposition.”

Caractacus gathered his courage, licking his lip again, and moved to slowly swing himself over Nevada’s legs. His heart was slamming in his chest, but the desire burning in his gut was hot and undeniable. He didn’t think Nevada would refuse him, but Caractacus was well aware that his hesitancy and lack of experience might be a turnoff. 

Nevada straightened his leg and set the remote aside, staring up at Caractacus’s face as Caractacus carefully straddled his thighs. “Can I help you with somethin?” Nevada asked, but he made only a half-hearted attempt at bravado. His pupils were wide, his nostrils flared, lips parted. His jeans were tight but not tight enough to completely restrict his growing arousal.

“I’d like to help you with something, actually,” Caractacus answered, casting a pointed look downward. “As a friend.”

“Friend.”

“Right. If I said I wanted to...to try some things but not others, would that be alright?” Caractacus asked uncertainly, reaching out to finger the collar of Nevada’s t-shirt. 

“Have you really not had any sex in two years?”

“Yeah…” Caractacus let his fingers slide down Nevada’s shirt. “Is that a big deal for you?”

“You sure you wouldn’t rather wait for someone—”

“I like you, Nevada. As long as oral is enough…”

Nevada released a soft breath and settled his hands, a tad tentatively, onto Caractacus’s hips. “I don’t usually give blowjobs, but I—”

“Oh.”

“—will.”

“No, I meant me. I don’t expect…” Caractacus laughed nervously, ducking his head. “I appreciate the sentiment. I’m not good at this, at saying everything so bluntly. I only meant I don’t—I’m not sure about the—the fucking part.” His face was flaming, but he could feel the thud of Nevada’s heart beneath his palm and it steadied him. “I want to suck you, if that’s alright,” he said, forcing his gaze back up to Nevada’s.

Nevada slid his fingers up under Caractacus’s shirt, splaying his hands over the florist’s ribs; his touch was gentle, mindful of the bruises. “You could ask to bite my dick off right now and I wouldn’t say no,” he said, and Caractacus uttered a small, surprised laugh. “But you don’t gotta do anything, _Tiesto_.” He shifted, leaning forward a bit, searching Caractacus’s face.

Caractacus wanted desperately to kiss him, but he felt a moment’s fear that he wouldn’t be able to compartmentalize if he did. He had a feeling that the instant his lips met Nevada’s, everything would change. It would mean more. 

It would mean too much.

Caractacus turned his face and felt Nevada’s lips graze his jaw. Ducking his head quickly so Nevada wouldn’t think he’d changed his mind, Caractacus kissed his jaw and down to his neck. The stubble stung his lip, but Caractacus didn’t care. He could feel the heat spreading through him, and he wanted more contact; he needed to feel Nevada’s skin against his.

He shifted backward, pushing Nevada’s shirt up his stomach, and bent down to kiss the warm, exposed skin of his belly. Nevada’s hands slipped out of Caractacus’s shirt and found their way into his hair instead, holding loosely while Caractacus kissed and sucked his way along Nevada’s happy trail until he reached the low-slung line of his jeans. 

Caractacus didn’t hesitate. Now that he’d started, his insecurities had faded. He knew Nevada wanted him, and that was enough. Caractacus gave in to instinct, letting his body lead the way. His fingers pulled open Nevada’s fly and his lips found the bulge of his erection. Nevada made a small sound in his throat, his fingers tightening in Caractacus’s hair.

Caractacus closed his mouth around Nevada, wetting the warm cotton and feeling Nevada grow harder against his tongue. Caractacus shifted a little further, tugging at Nevada’s tight jeans, and Nevada levered his hips up to help. Caractacus pushed himself up long enough to strip Nevada’s jeans and underwear down his legs and toss them to the floor, and then he dropped back over Nevada’s lap and paused, eyeing his dauntingly-large erection. He glanced at the small, dark tattoo inked into the line of Nevada’s pelvis, but he wasn’t sure what the symbol meant and didn’t think it was the time to ask.

He ducked his head before he could second-guess himself. He’d been on the receiving end enough times to know what felt good, and making his partner feel good had _always_ been Caractacus’s number one priority. He nuzzled Nevada’s balls for a moment, burrowing his nose into the springy curls of hair and relishing Nevada’s sharp intake of breath when Caractacus pulled one heavy testicle into his mouth. 

Caractacus took his time, sucking and nipping before moving to the other side. Nevada’s hair tickled his nose, but his musky scent filled Caractacus’s nostrils and only fueled his own desire. He moved forward, wincing slightly as his ribs brushed Nevada’s leg, and closed his lips around the head of Nevada’s cock. 

He ran his tongue around the crown, sucking gently, giving himself a few seconds to get used to the taste and feel. Then he lowered his head carefully, testing himself.

He needn’t have worried. Nevada’s cock felt strangely familiar, his weight and thickness oddly comforting as though he’d been designed for Caractacus’s mouth. Caractacus bobbed his head, humming in approval at the way Nevada’s skin felt against his tongue.

He was uncomfortable, though. His legs were splayed awkwardly in an attempt to keep them from hanging off the bed, and no matter how much he tried to squirm into a better position his bruises and achy muscles protested. It was distracting.

So was his own throbbing erection, locked up tightly in his jeans and rubbing against the bed with each movement. 

Caractacus released Nevada’s cock and slid over the edge of the bed. “What—” Nevada started, but Caractacus tugged at his hips. 

“Sit—Is that alright?” Caractacus asked, looking up at Nevada.

Nevada swung his legs over the edge of the bed and grabbed a pillow, dropping it onto the floor between his feet. Caractacus sank to his knees, grateful for the cushion even though he wouldn’t have thought to ask for one. “You okay?” Nevada asked, his hands settling onto Caractacus’s shoulders as Caractacus bent forward.

“This is better,” Caractacus said. “If it’s okay for you,” he added.

“I’m—” Nevada started, but he didn’t finish the thought as Caractacus quickly and easily swallowed his entire length. “Fuck,” Nevada said, forgetting to check his language. Caractacus’s throat worked roughly around Nevada’s crown, pulling him deeper.

Caractacus held him there for a few seconds before pulling back, slurping Nevada’s length and drawing a quick breath. He dove forward again, pleased with his body’s acceptance of Nevada’s. He bobbed his head several times, taking Nevada as deeply as he could before slowly drawing back to suckle at his tip. He reached a hand between Nevada’s legs to fondle his balls, prodding gently behind.

“ _Jesucristo_ you’re fuckin good at this,” Nevada breathed, and Caractacus felt a flush of pleasure at the compliment. He could taste the change in the other man, knew he was on the verge of climax, could feel the tightness of the fingers in his hair and the tension in Nevada’s muscles, and Caractacus doubled his efforts. He felt _powerful_ knowing he’d brought Nevada—cocky, dominant Nevada—to the edge so easily. “You sure you never— _fuck_ , fuck, gonna come—”

Caractacus ignored the tugs on his hair, tightening his mouth instead of loosening. It was more than curiosity; the need to taste Nevada was almost a compulsion, and Caractacus acted on pure instinct. He sucked hard, driving Nevada’s cock up against his hard palate, and Nevada groaned loudly as he came.

Caractacus froze as a few faint prickles across his nape exploded into starbursts like he’d never felt, sending a shiver down his spine and tingles through his entire body. He was too stunned to swallow, and he choked as Nevada drove forward reflexively and Caractacus’s throat and sinuses were suddenly filled with thick, salty ejaculate. He coughed and spluttered, shoving against Nevada’s legs, but the instinct for self-preservation was secondary.

It could be a coincidence. It wouldn’t be the first time soulmates were having sex with other people at the same moment. It wouldn’t even be the first time for _Caractacus_ , who’d often felt those little prickles while he was with Mimsie—

He shoved that thought away before it could take root. 

He turned his head, gagging and coughing, barely aware of the mess he was making down the front of himself and onto the floor. 

“Shit, tried to warn ya,” Nevada said. He sounded breathless but not overly concerned when he added, “You okay?”

Caractacus drew a wet, ragged breath and coughed again, swiping a shaky arm over his face. He’d slobbered cum and spit all over himself, and his eyes were leaking. His skin was still tingling, and felt like the fingers of a ghost were touching the back of his neck. He shoved himself unsteadily to his feet, unsure where to go or what to do but desperate to flee. 

“Hey,” Nevada said, sounding alarmed by whatever he was seeing in the other man’s face. He reached out to touch Caractacus’s wrist. “If you didn’t want—” 

“I need a minute,” Caractacus croaked, surprised to find himself able to speak at all. He turned and stumbled toward the bathroom, pushing the door closed behind himself as soon as he was inside. He stood in the darkness for long moments, breathing heavily, staring at nothing as he tried to calm the racing of his heart. “Coincidence,” he muttered aloud, shaking his head. “Only a coincidence.”

He flipped on the light and squinted at himself in the mirror. 

It didn’t feel like a coincidence, but considering the possibility of something more brought a stab of pain that stole his breath. Caractacus had always known that Mimsie wasn’t his soulmate, and so had she. But that didn’t diminish how much they’d loved each other, and he’d never wanted to spend his life with anyone but her. Even the thought felt like a betrayal, of her, of their children, the family and life they’d built. 

If anyone deserved his heart and _soul_ , it was her. Not some arrogant bully who would sleep with anyone who crossed his path.

 _Arrogant bully?_ a taunting voice whispered in his mind. _A few minutes ago you were singing a different tune_.

He liked Nevada. Hadn’t he been considering what it might be like to date him? Hadn’t he worried that kissing him on the mouth would only add to that desire?

Caractacus turned on the faucet and scrubbed water over his face, cleaning away the slimy mess, and rinsed his mouth. Yes, he was attracted to Nevada, he could admit that to himself. There was no shame in wanting to have a little fun. But Nevada Ramirez wasn’t a man who was going to fall in love and settle down, by his own admission.

And Caractacus didn’t want him to. 

He jumped at the sound of a knock on the bathroom door. “I shoulda pulled out or warned you better, okay, I know you never did it before,” Nevada said through the bathroom door. “Come on, don’t be upset. It’s fine if you don’t like it. But at least let me finish you off, you’ll like that better. You can close your eyes and pretend I’m someone else.”

Caractacus drew a bracing breath, releasing it slowly. He knew he was overreacting. Even if his hunch was correct, it didn’t matter. It didn’t change anything. “It’s not your fault, you didn’t do anything wrong,” he said, grateful to find his voice sounded mostly normal.

“That’d be a first,” Nevada muttered, barely audible outside the door. “I’m sorry, alright? You’re a nice guy, I’m not used to nice guys. I shouldn’t’ve—” He looked up in surprise when Caractacus pulled the door open. 

“It’s not your fault,” Caractacus repeated. Nevada looked him over—bright eyes, droplets of water clinging to his splotchy face, the mess down the front of his shirt, the erection still straining at the front of his jeans—and grimaced. “I’m fine, I promise. I just wasn’t as ready as I thought.”

“You don’t have to feel guilty, y’know,” Nevada said, his tone surprisingly gentle. “You said yourself she’d want you to have a life.”

“I’m going to take a shower,” Caractacus said, closing the door with a soft click. 

* * *

“I ordered food,” Nevada said, gesturing unnecessarily toward the takeout containers spread on the table. 

Caractacus felt remarkably better, and clearer-headed, when he emerged from the bathroom showered and dressed in clean clothes. “I meant the offer to cook,” he said. He couldn’t muster any real scorn, though, as his stomach rumbled at the smell of food.

“Had a hankering for a cheeseburger,” Nevada said with a shrug. He was surveying Caractacus but trying to be subtle about it. “Wasn’t sure what you like so I got a few things.”

“Thank you,” Caractacus said, walking over to the table. “I’m starving, actually.”

“If you’d swallowed—” Nevada cut himself off with a wince and held up a hand. “ _Lo siento_ , bad joke.”

“Oh, it’s alright,” Caractacus said, sinking into one of the two chairs, “no need to pretend it didn’t happen. And for the record, you didn’t taste nearly as bad as I feared.”

Nevada laughed. “Gee, thanks,” he intoned, although he seemed relieved. He dropped into the other chair. “It’s, uh...not always as bad as the first time, y’know.”

“It wasn’t bad at all,” Caractacus admitted. “Not until—Well, I guess I panicked a little.” He pulled one of the takeout containers toward himself and flipped the lid open to find a burger and fries. He pointed at it and Nevada waved a hand in permission, grabbing one of the other containers. “For what it’s worth, thank you,” Caractacus said after a minute of silence during which they wordlessly divvied up the condiments and prepared their respective meals the way they liked. 

“Just a burger,” Nevada muttered, poking a fry at his puddle of ketchup.

“I mean for not being an asshole about the whole thing.”

“I’m the one who got off, if anyone should be pissed it’s you.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Mm.” Nevada shoved the french fry into his mouth and chewed. “ _For what it’s worth_ , that was easily top five blowjobs I’ve ever had. Until, y’know. That very end bit.” Caractacus smiled, pleased in spite of everything. “Did you, uh…” Nevada gestured in the general direction of Caractacus’s lap and then toward the bathroom.

 _You’d know if I had_ , Caractacus thought. It would’ve been an interesting time for Nevada to feel the prickle of his soulmate climaxing after so many years of nothing, and the thought might be funny if it weren’t also a bit tragic. “No,” he said. Things might be different if Nevada had any interest in finding his soulmate, settling down. Caractacus might feel more guilt about depriving him of the truth. 

Nevada regarded him for a few moments while he ate. “You think too much,” he finally said.

Caractacus couldn’t refute that. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

Nevada’s brows went up. “Think we passed personal when you let me put my dick in your mouth, but—” He gestured in permission.

“This morning when we woke up and you were...you know.”

“Horny as fuck because— _lo siento_ , horny as hell because you were stuck all over me like _un medusa_?”

Caractacus cleared his throat. “Yes, that. When you went to take a shower, did you…?” Caractacus wasn’t sure which answer he was hoping for. If the answer was yes, then it was proof he was wrong, because he’d felt nothing across his neck that morning. If the answer was no, it wasn’t proof but it was another mark in favor of the theory. 

“I really wanna make you finish the question,” Nevada said. “But no.”

“Why not?”

“Sex is better with at least two people.”

“Oh. Have you...done it with multiple partners at once?”

Nevada grinned. “You’re a funny guy, _Tiesto_. I mean, you’ve got kids so I know you had sex, and you give the best blowjob I ever had—”

“Thought you said it was top five.”

Nevada leaned forward and put his elbows on the table, holding Caractacus’s stare. “I lied.”

 _They say everything feels better with your soulmate_ , Caractacus thought, but he shoved the thought away. It didn’t apply only to sex; not all adults had sex, after all. But he didn’t want to consider the idea that anything could be better than the life he’d known before losing his wife.

“I like sex,” Nevada said with a half-shrug. “I ain’t apologizin for it.”

“Of course not, I’m not saying—”

“But it’s only fun if everyone has fun. I’m an asshole but I’m not a fuckin monster. Goin back to your question about the shower, I tried. But I couldn’t do it without thinkin of you in the other room and that didn’t seem real fair, y’know? So I didn’t. Doesn’t make me any kinda hero though because I never shoulda let you get on your knees in front of me when I knew you might not be sure.”

Caractacus reached out on impulse and put his hand on Nevada’s wrist, wanting only to reassure him as he realized how much Nevada had been beating himself up for Caractacus’s freakout. The contact sent a frisson of heat into Caractacus’s fingers and up his wrist, and he had to clear his throat before he could speak. He saw Nevada’s throat bob and knew that he felt something, too.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Caractacus reiterated, needing Nevada to believe the truth of the words. “I’m just...not like you.” He saw the small wince that Nevada tried to hide, and hurried to clarify: “I don’t mean like that, like there’s anything wrong with—You have every right to sleep with whoever you want, and in some ways I envy you. Certainly I’m happy that you’re free to live the life you want.”

“Free?” Nevada murmured.

“Anyway,” Caractacus said, drawing his hand back and picking up his burger, “I’m sorry I made things awkward. We’re still friends, yeah?”

“Course,” Nevada answered quietly, fiddling with a fry. “I feel bad you didn’t get nothing out of it, though. I mean, I have sex every night, but you’ve gone _dos años_ —”

“Every night?” Caractacus asked, thinking _it’s not always at night_.

“Well. Until the last few,” Nevada muttered, shifting in his seat and frowning to hide his discomfort. “Or...this whole week, actually.”

 _Since we met_ , Caractacus thought, realizing it was true. He hadn’t noticed at first, but he hadn’t felt the prickle since the day of the accident. He needed to change the subject. “If you don’t mind my asking, what’s the symbol inside your hip?” Caractacus asked, holding up his hand in a fist with his thumb poked between his first two fingers.

“ _Manita de azabache_ ,” Nevada said. “It’s, uh...Well, it can mean a lot of things. Evil eye. Sex...fertility…” He cleared his throat. “ _Figa_ means, well, ‘pussy’ specifically. In Italian. But where my family’s from it’s a symbol of good luck.”

“Well. It does seem to have brought you luck in that department.”

“You think there’s something wrong with me?” Nevada asked. The question seemed to surprise him as much as Caractacus, and he looked down at his food with a frown. “Defective, maybe?”

“ _Defective_? Jesus, no, I don’t—I know we don’t know each other very well but I think you’re...great, actually.”

A small smile played over Nevada’s lips at the word _great_ , but he said, “If you decided you wanted to fall in love again someday, if you met your soulmate and found out they’d fucked half the city, d’you think you’d—”

“Everyone has a past,” Caractacus cut in. “I might worry someone would be turned off by my _lack_ of experience, but I think that our pasts made us who we are and when we meet someone our paths sort of...merge. For as long as a relationship lasts what matters is the present and what two—or however many,” he added, and Nevada smiled again, “—people do together. How they communicate, how they treat each other. For me, I think I’d need fidelity in a relationship but honesty is more important. Everyone should be on the same page, you know? Know where they stand. But I would never hold past relationships against anyone.”

Nevada shifted his elbows on the table, fidgeting with the edge of his takeout box. “What if—” He stopped at the sound of Caractacus’s phone.

“Sorry, give me a…” Caractacus frowned at the screen, suddenly uneasy. He answered the video call and asked, “Mimi? What’s wrong?” He’d already spoken to his children earlier—he’d called at noon, which was just before dinnertime for them in London—and they should be sound asleep. 

“I’m alright,” she answered, and he felt some of his tension ease. “I only needed to talk to you.”

“Sweetheart, where are you?”

“Sitting in the closet so I won’t wake Remy,” she answered. “Where’re you?”

He glanced across the table at Nevada, realizing she could see the apartment behind him. He’d been too worried about her reason for calling to think about anything else. “I’m having supper with a friend. Jemima, why are you up so late? Talk to me.”

For a moment it looked as though her face was going to crumple, and Caractacus’s heart clenched tight in his chest. “I know about the fire,” she said quietly.

“What—How—”

“The internet, Daddy,” she said. She’d composed herself, but she sniffed as a single tear rolled down her cheek. “I knew something was upsetting you.”

He dropped his head into his hand, his phone trembling in the other. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cracking as he stared at his daughter’s face. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to ruin your holiday, I didn’t know how—”

“Are you hurt, Daddy?” 

He thought about the black eye she could now see; he’d called them without video earlier and he should’ve known that alone would raise their suspicions. “No,” he said, which was true enough. “But we lost—”

“It’s only things,” she interrupted, but she looked away from the camera as another tear slipped from her eye and he knew that she was aware of how many things they’d lost. “All we need is you. Can we come home? I want to be with you.”

“I need a little bit of time to find us a place to stay, love. I need you to stay there and be safe until then.”

“Couldn’t we stay there with your friend?”

“There’s not enough room for all of us,” Caractacus said, shooting another quick glance at Nevada. “But as soon—”

“Can I meet them?”

“It’s very late, honey, and I don’t think—”

“I shan’t sleep, I’ll only worry about you, Daddy,” Jemima said, and Nevada made a small sound of amusement before holding out his hand for the phone.

Caractacus hesitated only a moment before handing it over, and Nevada turned it around to face himself.

“ _Hola, Capullo_.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s like...a flower bud,” Nevada answered. He wasn’t smiling, but his tone was friendly. Caractacus watched with real curiosity, wondering how his daughter and Nevada would interact. 

“What’s your name?”

“Nevada.”

“I never heard of you. How’d you meet my father?”

“He ran into my car with his van. He’s a terrible driver.”

Jemima’s laugh was like a soothing balm for all of Caractacus’s worries, and he felt himself relax as he watched Nevada’s lips curve. 

“Probably he was daydreaming,” she said.

Nevada cast Caractacus an amused look. “Is that right?”

“Oh, sure,” Jemima answered. “He would never hit your car on _purpose._ ”

“No?”

“Is that how he got the black eye?”

“Nah, he got in a fight with three guys.”

“Nevada,” Caractacus said, making a swipe for the phone, but Nevada leaned back to keep it out of reach.

“Are you lying?”

“Nope.”

Jemima was quiet for a few seconds. “He must’ve been protecting someone,” she finally said with absolute certainty.

“He was,” Nevada agreed. “I know it might not always seem like it, but he’s pretty good at taking care of himself. I don’t think we need to worry so much about him.”

“What do you do? I mean for a job.”

“Tattoos, mostly.”

“Will you give me a tattoo?”

“Sure.”

“No,” Caractacus said. 

“Soon’s you turn eighteen or get a good fake ID.”

“What else?”

“What else, what?”

“You said tattoos _mostly_.”

“My place also does piercings.”

“Will you pierce my ears?”

“I don’t really specialize in ears but okay.” Nevada glanced at Caractacus. “He didn’t say no to that,” he added, winking at the phone, and Jemima laughed.

“I’ve already agreed to let her pierce her ears,” Caractacus said, involuntarily thinking of Mimsie’s jewelry box and wondering if any of the items that Jemima had been looking forward to wearing were salvageable. He’d put it off for too long already and needed to go sifting through the debris.

“Normally I work by appointment only but I’ll make an exception,” Nevada told the girl. “Anytime.”

“Are you Daddy’s boyfriend?”

“Mimi.”

Nevada blinked, shifting in his seat. “No. You think he should have one?”

“Maybe. Are you nice?” she asked.

“Sometimes.”

“Your apartment seems very small. I only saw one bed.”

“Jemima.”

“It’s a pretty big bed,” Nevada answered, ignoring Caractacus’s sound of exasperation.

“Do you want a boyfriend?”

“Alright,” Caractacus said, leaning forward and holding out his hand. Nevada cocked an eyebrow and smirked at him, but handed over the phone. “Mimi, we’ll talk tomorrow. I need you to go to sleep and try not to worry. Everything will be alright. I promise you. I’ll figure it out.”

“I know,” she said. “I only want to be there with you.”

“Soon, poppet,” he answered through the burn of unshed tears. 

“Daddy.” She hesitated, looking at his face on her screen. “Daddy, I’m very sad about my things,” she admitted quietly. “And Mummy’s things.”

“I know, baby,” he said, unable to keep the tears from spilling down his cheeks. He ached to be able to wrap his arms around her; the pain of being unable to touch her was overwhelming. “So am I.”

“But you still have us.”

“You and your brother are all I need. I love you.”

“I love you, too. Say goodnight to Nevada.”

“I will,” Caractacus promised even though Nevada could hear her. 

“ _Buenas noches, Capullo_ ,” Nevada said, and Caractacus watched his daughter smile at the sound. 

As soon as she ended the call, Caractacus dropped his phone on the table with a dull clatter and put his face in his hands. “I’m a horrible father,” he muttered.

“Don’t seem like it,” Nevada said.

“I should’ve told them.”

“She seems like a good kid. Smart. Other one’s prob’ly the same. You can rebuild. Family’s the most important thing, right?”

Caractacus sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face, barely noticing the pain of his bruised cheek. “Do you have a lot of family?”

“Got a sister. Two nephews, Marco and his little brother.” Nevada pointed to the family picture on top of the bookshelf. “I try to keep them from doing the same stupid shit I did at their age.”

“Jemima’s a worrier. Always has been but it’s only gotten worse since her mother’s passing. She thinks it’s her responsibility to take care of me. And her brother. I was hoping this holiday in London would remind her how to be a kid for a while. But now…” Caractacus sighed again. “I need to go look at the damage tomorrow. I’ve been putting it off, hiding out like a coward, like that would make it all go away.

“And then I need to find a job, even if it’s temporary. I have to have a place for my children to come home to.”

“I can give you a job.”

“I appreciate that, Nevada. Really I do. But...if I have to work a job sweeping floors I’ll do it without hesitation, but it’ll be someplace that actually needs me. I haven’t seen a speck of dust in your parlor, haven’t found a nook or cranny that doesn’t smell like disinfectant.”

Nevada flashed his teeth. “You checkin out my nooks and crannies?” Before Caractacus could respond, he added, “Who said anything about sweeping floors? You said the place needed more plants. Flowers, whatever.”

“You want to hire me to put plants around your tattoo parlor?” Caractacus asked skeptically. 

“Shit, I dunno. We can figure something out. I pay Angelo, you ever see him working?”

“I’m not saying I’m not grateful for all your help, but...why?”

Nevada stared across the table at him. “I don’t know,” he finally admitted. He paused, raising a hand to rub the back of his neck. “Look, I gotta tell you something.” His phone buzzed on the table beside his food and he glanced down, a small frown flitting over his forehead as he read the text on the screen. He seemed to debate for several seconds before asking, “You okay here by yourself if I run out for a while?”

“Oh. Sure, yeah, of course,” Caractacus answered. “If you’re alright with me being here.”

Nevada smiled. “Think I can trust you with all my valuable shit.” He got up and stretched before gesturing toward the extra takeout containers on the table. “Eat whatever you want of this,” he said, heading toward the bathroom and disappearing inside. 

Caractacus looked at Nevada’s phone, still faceup on the table. Nevada hadn’t cleared the text, so Caractacus wouldn’t need to unlock the phone to read it. All he’d have to do is touch the button. His fingers itched to reach across the table, but he picked up his burger instead. He didn’t like the jealousy in his gut at the thought of Nevada going to meet someone—especially so soon after the intimacy he and Caractacus had shared—but it was none of Caractacus’s business.

Nevada didn’t owe him anything, especially loyalty. They weren’t in a relationship. They barely knew each other, despite Caractacus’s suspicions about their possible link. And Caractacus wasn’t prepared to give Nevada more, so if Nevada could go somewhere else to get what he really wanted—what he needed—then Caractacus wasn’t going to begrudge him that. 

There was jealousy, yes, as irrational as it may seem, but Caractacus found that his sincere hope for Nevada to be happy was far more powerful. 

* * *

He left smelling like a fresh dousing of cologne and returned well after midnight smelling like cigarettes and alcohol. Caractacus was in bed, awake, when he heard the key in the door, and he heard Nevada saying goodnight to someone and thanking them for the ride.

A man. Caractacus heard him answer with a quiet: “You can stay over any time it’s too crowded here.”

Nevada’s answer was too low for Caractacus to hear. A few seconds later Nevada let himself inside and closed the door. He stripped off his jacket and hung it on the hook by the door. He tried to toe off his boots, nearly falling over in the process, before giving up and walking over to sit on the edge of the bed. He bent down to struggle out of his boots, his back to Caractacus.

“Do you smoke?” the florist asked when he caught the first whiff of the other man. 

“Sometimes,” Nevada answered without looking back. His boots made dull thuds as they fell to the floor. “Sorry. Tried to be quiet,” he added, getting slowly to his feet. 

“I was awake,” Caractacus answered. 

“Yeah? Shit, it’s like...fuckin late,” Nevada said as he started toward the bathroom. Caractacus watched him fumble for the light switch and then push the door closed behind himself with a click. 

In truth, Caractacus had been unable to sleep. A large part of him had expected a prickle across the back of his neck, but he’d also been worried when the hours began to stretch out and Nevada still hadn’t returned. 

He heard the shower and rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. The prickle—the _soulmate sense_ , as he often thought of it—hadn’t come. Somehow that had only served to further convince him that he was right about Nevada being his match, though. 

Caractacus had no idea what to do with the knowledge, or suspicion. 

He was still awake when Nevada emerged from the bathroom completely naked with his wet hair plastered haphazardly to his head, and Caractacus stared in stunned disbelief, so caught off guard that any words he might’ve said died on his tongue.

His gaze raked over Nevada’s body, noting the large rose inked in black and dark red across his pec and up toward his shoulder; there was something written below the petals, near his heart, but Caractacus couldn’t make out the words. He also couldn’t stop staring as Nevada walked out in a halo of light and steam.

Nevada didn’t seem to notice. He crossed to the bed, clumsily kicked his boots aside with a swipe of his foot, and flopped facedown on top of the comforter beside Caractacus. Caractacus stared at his naked ass for long moments, alarmed to feel his own body stirring in sudden desire. 

There were several lights on in the apartment, including the bathroom light that Nevada had forgotten to switch off, and Caractacus had a clear view of a very alluring form. He wanted to reach out and run his hand over Nevada’s skin, still flushed from the hot shower. 

Despite his unexpected arousal, however, there was something else pushing its way to the forefront of Caractacus’s mind. Something that had been jogged loose by the smell of smoke, tugged forward by the sight of the flower tattoo, and driven home when, a moment later, Nevada muttered something into his pillow.

The words were muffled and Caractacus only caught one: _coñazo._

Caractacus didn’t know if that was directed at him or not and he didn’t care. “You were the one on the fire escape,” he said.

He knew it should feel like a huge revelation, but it wasn’t like that. It was more like something he’d known but forgotten, resurfacing with a feeling of _oh, right_. It made so much sense that he felt a little foolish for not realizing sooner.

“Wondered when you were gonna figure that out,” Nevada mumbled, turning his face far enough to peer at Caractacus with one eye. “You wanna yell at me wait for morning when the headache hits.”

“Why would I yell at you for saving my life?”

“Not that part. The part where I didn’t tell you.” He turned his face back into the pillow. 

“I accused you of arson, you didn’t owe me—”

“You’re too nice, _Tiesto_.”

“Did you break the window, too?”

“Sorry, want me to pay for the damage?” The silence stretched out while Caractacus pondered the other man’s foul mood. Caractacus’s life had been turned upside down, but he’d also thrown a significant wrench into Nevada’s. 

“You should put on clothes or get under the covers. You’ll freeze.”

“Fuck off,” Nevada answered, and Caractacus fell silent. 

It seemed as though it would be best to wait until morning to try to have a conversation, and after a few moments Caractacus rolled onto his side facing the wall. He pulled the comforter up to his chin and closed his eyes, thinking about that moment on the fire escape when he’d had no idea what to do or where to go, when a hand and voice had led him to safety.

Nevada might not want a soulmate, and Caractacus might not be ready to fall in love again, but he wasn’t sure the universe was going to give them a choice.

After a minute, the bed moved as Nevada shifted and somehow managed to crawl beneath the covers. Caractacus could tell by the other man’s breathing that Nevada was facing him, and he was acutely aware of Nevada’s state of undress. 

“That was a shitty thing to say,” Nevada murmured, the words barely more than a breath. “About the window, I mean.”

“It’s alright,” Caractacus answered.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. Goodnight, Nevada.” He thought he felt Nevada’s fingers against his back—a light touch against his borrowed t-shirt, there and gone.

* * *

When he woke in the morning, Nevada was curled against his back, arm thrown over him and face burrowed between Caractacus’s shoulders. His breath was hot, and Caractacus could feel the damp cotton of the t-shirt clinging to his skin.

Nevada was still naked, but he wasn’t aroused. Caractacus, his mind crawling slowly out of sleep, was both relieved and disappointed. His own body responded to Nevada’s heat wrapped around him, and it didn’t help when Nevada stirred and woke with a small sound. 

Nevada drew back and rolled away before Caractacus could think of anything to say, and Caractacus felt him slip out of bed and heard his bare feet cross to the bathroom. When Nevada came out, he didn’t head back to bed. He went toward the kitchen, presumably to make coffee. 

Assuming Nevada would want some quiet time to deal with his hangover, Caractacus got up and went into the bathroom without saying anything. He took his time, making sure his body was under control. It was fair turnabout, he supposed, for the previous morning.

When he finally walked out of the bathroom he stopped in his tracks at the sight of Nevada on the weight bench, his head toward the wall and away from Caractacus. He’d pulled on a pair of briefs and a tank top, and he’d already worked up a sweat. Caractacus stood for long moments, staring at the expanses of glistening skin, the flexing muscles, the way every part of Nevada’s body seemed to work in perfect tandem as he lifted the barbell and brought it back down.

After a few more repetitions, Nevada dropped the bar into its cradle with a clang and let out a shaky breath before sitting up on the bench. He swiped a hand over his sweaty face and looked at Caractacus, noting the fact that he’d gotten dressed. 

“I got guys that can help if you want.”

Caractacus blinked. “Pardon?”

“Looking through the stuff. That’s where you’re going, right?”

“Oh. Yes. Um...Are you—” He stopped, looking toward the sound of a knock on the door.

“Wanna get that?” Nevada asked, getting to his feet and crossing to the dresser.

“Sure.” Caractacus walked toward the door but hesitated, glancing back. Nevada was fishing a pair of jeans out of the bottom drawer, but he didn’t seem to be in a hurry. “Should I wait—” When Nevada waved a hand in his direction, Caractacus turned and opened the door. 

“Mr. Ramirez?”

“No. He’s—” Caractacus gestured toward Nevada, who was tugging on his jeans in the middle of the apartment. 

“Nevada Ramirez?” the man asked Nevada, who grunted in assent as he pulled on a t-shirt. “I need you to come with me for a lineup of suspects, please.”

“Am I in the line or looking at it?” Nevada asked.

The man seemed taken aback by the question. “We have a suspect in custody and need your help identifying him.”

“Suspect in what?” Caractacus asked, glancing between the two men as Nevada bent down to fish one of his boots from beneath the bed. 

“I’m sorry, sir, but it’s an ongoing investigation—”

“He was there, too,” Nevada said. “Doubt he’ll remember, though. Didn’t even remember I was there.”

“You were at the flower shop that burned?”

“It was mine. I’m Caractacus Potts,” Caractacus answered. He looked at Nevada. “You saw the arsonist?”

Nevada pulled on his second boot and straightened. “Guess we’ll find out,” he said, grabbing his jacket from the hook and slipping on his sunglasses. “We need to stop for coffee,” he added as he brushed past the other two men and strode out into the parlor.

* * *

“It seems worse, somehow,” Caractacus said, staring down at the locket in his hands. It had escaped the fire remarkably unscathed, with the family photo inside still intact. “Knowing it was random? Just a cruel twist of fate…”

The arsonist had confessed to setting the fire, after being confronted with being seen at the scene. He had a long history of legal problems and no connection to Caractacus or Flower Potts. 

He told the police he’d wanted to smell the burning flowers; it was little more than curiosity, and because of it Caractacus had lost his home and business and nearly everything he owned. 

“Fate’s a bitch,” Nevada agreed. He was leaning against the wall by the bathroom with his arms and ankles crossed, watching Caractacus on the edge of the bed. They hadn’t spoken much all day, but Caractacus had been grateful for Nevada’s presence while looking through the ruins of his home. 

“It did bring me you, at least,” Caractacus said. He was distracted, barely aware of what he was saying. He hadn’t cried at the site, not even when he’d found the remnants of Jemima’s horses. He’d felt the pain lodged in his chest; it was still stuck there, unwilling to break free. 

“Lousy fuckin consolation, I say.”

Caractacus looked up, his attention caught by the hint of bitterness in Nevada’s voice. “It’s been the only good thing about all of this,” he said, and Nevada made a face as he glanced toward the kitchen. “I know I’ve...cramped your style—”

“You know you don’t gotta keep pretending you’re fine,” Nevada said, spearing him with a look. He uncrossed his arms to hook a thumb toward the bathroom. “You can go cry in there again if you want.”

“I’m fine,” Caractacus said, despite the burning in his chest.

“Liar,” Nevada shot back. “I can feel—” He stopped abruptly, scowling, and pushed away from the wall. “Least they caught the guy. Means your insurance’ll pay and you can rebuild.”

“Right,” Caractacus answered, looking down at the locket. 

“Or buy a new place, whatever.”

“Perhaps I should go back to London,” Caractacus mused. “The children can stay near what family they have left. We can start over again.” He didn’t want to admit that part of him was hoping Nevada would beg him not to leave, to tell him that he felt the connection, too. That he wanted something with Caractacus. 

Nevada was silent for what felt like a long time before saying, “Sure, if there’s no reason for you to stay.”

“Is there?” Caractacus asked, raising his gaze to the other man’s.

Nevada shrugged a shoulder. 

“Mimsie and I started the shop together. We all did, as a family. Now that she’s gone…” He shook his head. “I keep thinking about the roses. When she passed, Jeremy insisted on putting out roses…” His voice cracked and he blinked, clearing his throat. “He knew they were her favorites. Every time we visit her grave we take roses. But now they’re gone, too.”

“Plenty of places in the city with roses.”

“Right.”

“Want me to leave so you can cry?”

“No,” Caractacus said without hesitation. The last thing he wanted was for Nevada to leave. “I said I’m—”

“Want me to give you a titty twist or something? Kick you in the shin?”

Caractacus gave a startled laugh and got to his feet, stuffing the locket into the front pocket of his borrowed jeans. “The first would definitely make me cry, I have very sensitive—”

Nevada pushed off the wall and crossed the space between them, and Caractacus’s words faltered as Nevada closed in on him. He swallowed hard, unable to look away from the other man’s steady stare.

Nevada reached out and pressed a finger against the middle of Caractacus’s sternum, hard enough to be uncomfortable but not actually hurt. It didn’t matter; all of Caractacus’s pain and grief were lodged behind that narrow strip of bone. Nevada’s finger might as well be poking directly into it, stirring the smoldering embers.

“Can’t keep it there forever,” Nevada said. 

“Feeling sorry for myself won’t fix anything,” Caractacus answered, but there was no air behind the words. He couldn’t breathe.

“Won’t break anything, either.”

It took a moment for the words to fall into place in Caractacus’s mind, for his brain to make sense of the simple statement and recognize it for what it was: permission. Permission to wallow, to cry, to grieve for things that weren’t ‘merely things’ _really_. He’d already cried but he’d done so with guilt, had done his best to temper the emotion and bottle it up quickly. 

“It isn’t fair,” he whispered.

Nevada’s expression was stony but there was sympathy in his eyes. “No.”

There were so many words that Caractacus could say, that he wanted to say—about how he thought he was a good person, and how the universe seemed intent on punishing him anyway, about the pain of losing his wife and then the life they’d built together—but he found that he didn’t need to speak them aloud. Looking at Nevada, Caractacus knew without a doubt that Nevada understood everything that he was thinking and feeling. 

Caractacus looped his arms over Nevada’s shoulders and buried his face between his arm and Nevada’s neck, drawing a ragged breath filled with the other man’s comforting scent. He didn’t need to cry, he realized, not past the few tears that slipped from his closed eyes.

All he needed was to feel the grief, to let it course through him and tear at his battered heart. For the grief to be _valid_. 

Nevada’s hands settled at Caractacus’s waist for several seconds before sliding around his sides to pull him into a tight hug. “I know I can’t fix it,” Nevada said quietly with his lips near Caractacus’s ear, “but I can help, y’know. _Sin bandas_.”

“I need to tell you something, Nevada,” Caractacus said, because it wasn’t fair to leave Nevada in the dark about something so important. Caractacus was free to make his own decisions, but Nevada needed to have all the facts if he was going to have that same freedom. Caractacus lifted his head to meet the other man’s eyes. 

Nevada kissed him, his hands finding their way to Caractacus’s face. His palms were warm against Caractacus’s jaw. His kiss was rough and hurried at first, as though he were afraid Caractacus might pull away if he wasn’t quick enough, but it gentled almost immediately when he felt Caractacus’s mouth open to him. 

Desire exploded through Caractacus and he grabbed Nevada’s shirt to steady himself. Nevada made a small sound and his hands slid up into Caractacus’s hair, holding him in place while his tongue explored Caractacus’s mouth.

Caractacus ran his hands over Nevada’s shoulders and arms, tugging a bit frantically at his shirt, wanting—needing—to find bare skin. He wanted to feel everything, every bit of Nevada, every touch, every emotion coursing through him. He wanted to share everything, and part of him knew it was unfair to give in to that desire without saying what he’d started to say, but he also knew that Nevada was feeling the same pull. 

Nevada took an abrupt step back and Caractacus stumbled forward, chasing the kiss and contact, blinking in surprise. He watched as Nevada quickly stripped his shirt up and over his head and flung it aside with a careless flick of his wrist. 

Caractacus opened his mouth but the words died on his tongue as his gaze slipped down to the rose tattoo and the words inked beneath: 

_en mi vida, te amaré más_

Caractacus’s heart skipped as he stared at the lyrics. “In my life, I’ll love you more,” he whispered. The words were carved into a headstone that he visited every month. He and his children laid roses there, every month. 

“I thought you were gone,” Nevada said quietly, and Caractacus looked up to meet his eyes. “There was so much pain and then...nothing, for so long.” He shook his head, swallowing as emotion twisted his features. “I know what I said, but—”

Caractacus stepped forward and kissed him, running his palms over the bare skin of his shoulders and chest, letting the heat burn into his hands. Nevada’s tongue was back in his mouth, driving out all rational thought. Caractacus turned, pushing the other man toward the bed, pulling back just far enough to yank off his shirt and shuck his jeans, kicking them and his shoes aside.

“How’re the ribs—” Nevada started, eyeing his bruises.

“I don’t care,” Caractacus said, kissing Nevada again and following him down onto the bed. Caractacus dropped over him, kissing frantically at his mouth and down to his chest, fumbling awkwardly with Nevada’s fly between their bodies. Nevada’s hands were all over him, setting off bursts of hot tingles everywhere he touched until Caractacus was shivering with the need for more. 

He pushed himself up and tugged Nevada’s jeans and briefs free, peeling them off and tossing them to the floor. Nevada’s knees were bent over the edge of the bed, and Caractacus pushed his thighs wider and started to drop to a crouch between them. 

Nevada levered himself up and grabbed Caractacus’s hair to stop him. “What do you want?” 

“Everything,” Caractacus answered without hesitation. In a moment he was on his back on the bed with Nevada stretched over him, kissing his neck and chest and back up to his neck, and Caractacus clutched desperately at the other man’s hips to pull him closer. He could feel Nevada’s erection, hot and heavy against his own, and he tried to arch against him.

Nevada thumbed at one of Caractacus’s nipples and hummed in approval when Caractacus jerked in surprise and let out a low moan. “Weren’t lying about that, huh?”

Caractacus laughed breathlessly and shifted, squirming restlessly beneath him. “Please. God, Nevada—” He threw his head back when Nevada’s mouth closed around his nipple, tongue flicking roughly. “Please.”

Nevada bit gently at Caractacus’s nipple before lifting his head. “No need to beg,” he teased. He reached down and circled his fingers around Caractacus’s erection in a light grasp. “You want me to get you off fast the first time?” he asked, clearly mindful of how tightly-wound Caractacus was after years without any release. 

“I want you inside me,” Caractacus answered, and Nevada sucked in a surprised breath. Those were words that Caractacus had never said, had never imagined he would say, but they were absolutely true. “Tell me what to do.” 

Nevada’s nostrils flared and he slanted a hungry kiss over Caractacus’s mouth. He kissed him until Caractacus’s head was spinning, until he was wiggling desperately beneath Nevada and scrabbling against his skin with frantic fingertips.

Caractacus turned his face away to draw a ragged breath. His body was on fire and he wasn’t sure how much more he could stand. He didn’t want to finish early, but his self-control was dwindling with every heartbeat, and he could feel his body trembling close to the edge. He pushed himself into Nevada’s still-loose hand, unable to stop himself, and a shudder passed through him.

“You sure?” Nevada asked.

“Yes. Please,” Caractacus breathed. He watched Nevada reach up and fish condoms and lube out of the nightstand, and he shook his head when Nevada held up the former with his brows raised in silent question. “I want all of you.”

Nevada tossed the package onto the stand and shifted up onto his knees. “Tell me if you don’t like anything,” he said, lubing his fingers. “Or you change your mind.”

“I won’t.” 

“Bend your legs up.” Nevada ran his fingers over Caractacus’s opening, smirking when Caractacus gasped and clenched reflexively. “Mm, you’re a good listener.” 

“Reward me, then,” Caractacus shot back, and Nevada’s face split into a grin. 

Nevada slipped a slick finger into Caractacus and leaned down to kiss his lips. “You’re tight. Don’t wanna hurt you.”

“I trust you.” 

Nevada continued kissing him while he worked his finger around Caractacus’s rim, slowly urging his body to relax and open. When he slid a second finger in with the first, Caractacus moaned at the feeling of being stretched. He wanted more, and he tried to push himself against Nevada’s hand. 

When Nevada brushed a gentle stroke over his prostate, Caractacus barely bit back his cry as his cock jumped against his stomach. He was leaking precum all over himself, barely aware of anything but the fiery pressure building within him. 

“ _Dios_ , still so tight,” Nevada murmured.

“Tell me if I’m doing something wrong,” Caractacus gasped, blinking the sweat from his eyes. “Something you don’t like.”

“Won’t be a problem, _Tiesto_ ,” Nevada assured him. “I have poppers if you want.” Caractacus shook his head without bothering to ask what _poppers_ were. He didn’t want anything but Nevada. “Wrap your legs around me. Good boy,” he added when Caractacus immediately obeyed. “Does your back hurt? You need a pillow—”

“I need you to fuck me.”

Nevada leaned down, his lips hovering above Caractacus’s while he searched his eyes. “That’s not what this is,” he said, and Caractacus felt a shiver pass through him. He grabbed Nevada’s hair to pull him down for a kiss.

He tightened a little when he felt Nevada’s cock nudging at his opening, but he forced himself to relax an instant later. Nevada moved slowly, entering him carefully, and the discomfort eased quickly. There was no pain when Nevada finally sank into him; only a pleasant sense of being stretched, filled, _claimed_. 

Nevada dropped his forehead against Caractacus’s shoulder. “ _Llevo buscándote hace rato,_ ” he breathed. 

“Well…” Caractacus answered, threading his fingers into Nevada’s damp hair, “you found me.”

Nevada flexed his hips slowly, lifting his head to watch Caractacus’s face. “You okay?”

“Perfect,” Caractacus said, and Nevada smiled in response. 

Nevada moved again, slowly withdrawing before driving forward with a little more force, hitting Caractacus’s prostate and wringing a moan from his lips. He set a steady rhythm, watching Caractacus’s face as he carried him steadily toward the edge.

“You need a hand?”

Caractacus shook his head; his whole body was trembling, his legs clenched tightly around Nevada. “I’m going to—I’m coming,” he panted, clutching at the other man.

“Hold on,” Nevada said, and with one hard thrust he stuttered to a stop, spilling himself inside Caractacus as Caractacus spilled himself between their bodies. The prickles at their napes exploded, consuming them, wrapping them in a cocoon together as they held frantically to each other with their bodies trembling and their skin alive with dancing sunbursts.

* * *

“‘ _Baja de las nubes_.’ That’s what my father would say when I was little. Writing feelings, drawing pictures. He tried to break me of all that but I just got good at hiding it. Luckily he wasn’t around long, anyway.”

“I’m sorry,” Caractacus said. His cheek was resting on Nevada’s chest and Nevada was drawing invisible patterns on his arm. 

“I used to not feel so lonely because I knew no matter what, there was one person out there who would understand me. Love me.” He swallowed. “I was fine with waiting, but then…”

“I felt like part of me died when I lost her,” Caractacus said. “I’m not sure I would’ve survived without my children. I’m not sure I wanted to. I didn’t think about how that might affect you.”

“I just kept thinking these words, seeing this flower,” Nevada said, lifting his hand to touch the ink on his own skin. “I couldn’t sleep or eat.” He paused. “If it bothers you, I’ll take the words off or cover them up.”

“No,” Caractacus said, laying his hand over Nevada’s on the tattoo. He considered in silence for a few moments. “Maybe this is part of the reason we felt so compelled to move here, of anywhere in the world. I wonder why it took fate so long to cross our paths when we were in the same city.”

“Would you have wanted to meet me then?” Nevada asked.

“No. I’m sorry, Nevada.”

“I’m not. You were happy. I felt it without even thinking about it, for so long. I’d give her back to you if I could.”

Caractacus pressed closer, wrapping his arm around Nevada. “I’m glad I crashed into your car.”

“Mm. I’m glad I decided to go for a walk in the middle of the fuckin night and somehow ended up ten blocks away.”

“Just in time to save my life. In more ways than one,” Caractacus added, turning his face to kiss Nevada’s chest. 

Nevada was silent for a full minute, and Caractacus drifted drowsily with the other man’s warmth and scent around him. “That stuff you said about not holding someone’s past against him?” Nevada finally said quietly, pulling Caractacus from his own sleepy musings. 

“Still true,” Caractacus answered on a yawn.

Nevada’s arm tightened around him. “I didn’t mean what I said about not wanting to be with one person forever.”

“Glad to hear it,” Caractacus said without lifting his head. “Because I think I might like you.” He grinned at Nevada’s soft, rumbling chuckle. 

* * *

Nevada opened the door and glared at the man standing before him. “Yeah?”

The man cleared his throat. “Hi, yes, I’m sorry to bother you, but...is Caractacus Potts here?”

Nevada’s gaze narrowed and he raked a quick glance down the man’s body, taking stock of the expensive suit and shiny shoes. “Who’s asking?”

“I’m sorry, it’s...rather personal business.” He looked past Nevada as Caractacus stepped out of the bathroom. “Mr. Potts?”

“How did you find me here, first of all?” Caractacus asked, more curious than concerned.

“I followed you yesterday. From the...the shop. I was going to talk to you there but it seemed like an invasion…” He cleared his throat. “I wasn’t sure if you’d still be here but the gentleman in the establishment here,” he said, gesturing behind himself toward the tattoo parlor, “said you were.”

“Who are you?” Caractacus asked, noting the way Nevada had planted himself in the doorway and showed no signs of inviting the stranger inside. 

“My name is Grayson Rose,” the man said, and Caractacus felt a strange jolt at the name even though he was sure he’d never heard it before. “I called several times about purchasing Flower Potts.”

Caractacus stared at the man, his mind racing as he tried to fit the pieces together. The police had already arrested the arsonist, and it didn’t look like the fire had anything to do with those calls—or anything to do with Caractacus at all. A random act of cruelty. 

“The store is gone,” Caractacus said. “The flowers are gone, everything is...gone. I can’t help you.”

“I understand, Mr. Potts, and I can’t tell you how sorry I am for your loss. Your losses. I just...I’d like to speak with you if you have a few minutes?”

“I don’t understand,” Caractacus admitted slowly. “What exactly do you want from me?”

Grayson glanced at Nevada.

“Anything you need to say to me, you can say in front of him,” Caractacus said. He considered, and added, “Perhaps you’d best come inside, though.” He had no idea what the man wanted, or why he thought the matter was _personal_ , but it was probably wise to be a little discreet until he found out. 

Nevada stepped aside, ignoring Grayson’s nod of thanks, and looked at Caractacus. “Want me to go?”

Caractacus shook his head, and Nevada closed the door before walking over to stand by his side. Caractacus cast him a quick smile before turning his attention to Grayson, who seemed nervous as he looked around the small apartment. 

“You called more times than _several_ , Mr. Rose,” Caractacus said. “I’ve never understood why you wanted _my_ shop so badly.”

“It’s complicated,” Grayson said, glancing away as he appeared to gather his thoughts or courage or both. “I met Mims—Mrs. Potts three years ago when I was picking up an arrangement for my mother’s funeral. I asked her how you managed to carry so many exotic and rare plants—honestly, your shop was unlike any in the city, Mr. Potts. You must know that. While we talked she bragged about how—”

“My wife didn’t _brag_ about _anything_ ,” Caractacus cut in, feeling blood rush to his head. His stomach was churning uneasily, and his skin was prickling, and he had no idea why. He shifted closer to Nevada without realizing.

“Poor choice of words,” Grayson said, holding up a hand, “I only mean she boasted about—”

“I don’t know who you are or who you _think_ you are, but if you’re looking for—”

“She boasted about _you_ , Mr. Potts. Caractacus. Her Jack. She said you could work magic with plants, said that most people didn’t understand how impressive it was, what you could do. Said that people used to think you were nothing more than a gardener but they didn’t understand that you could understand plants and flowers in a way no one else could. The _mechanics_ of them, for lack of a better word. And she talked about how she’d become taken with a certain rare hybrid rose, and how you managed to recreate it for her. She said you could’ve made a fortune.”

“I don’t even have enough savings to keep my kids fed through the winter if the insurance money doesn’t come through,” Caractacus said through numb lips. “You’re barking up the wrong tree.”

“I didn’t come here for money, you misunderstand.”

“I don’t think the problem’s on his end,” Nevada said.

Grayson glanced at Nevada before looking back at Caractacus. “Right, I’m sorry I’m not explaining myself well, it’s just that this is a lot harder to say…” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Mr. Potts, Mimsie loved that flower shop more than anything in the world, save you and her children. I didn’t know her well, not really, but when she passed...I felt like I needed something of hers, something important to her.” He paused, and the silence in the room was thick and heavy, clinging to Caractacus’s skin. 

“Are you trying to tell me you had an affair with my wife?” Caractacus asked in a low voice. “She would never.”

“No. No, of course not. She would never and neither would I. I’ve been married for twenty years, I love my wife. And Mimsie—”

“Stop saying his wife’s name,” Nevada said, and Caractacus felt a surge of gratitude for his protectiveness. 

“She loved you with all her heart, you know that. You and your kids were her whole life. She chose you, the same way you chose her,” Grayson added, glancing at Nevada. “The same way my wife and I—”

“You’re saying Mimsie was your soulmate,” Caractacus realized. It was the glance toward Nevada that finally made the pieces click into place. 

Grayson was silent for long moments. “We both knew right away,” he said, the words almost a whisper in the quiet room. “It was like this...pull. You know? Like as soon as we were in the same room together, part of us didn’t want to leave. But I promise you, nothing—”

“I’m not worried,” Caractacus cut in. “I know Mimsie.” What hurt was the knowledge that she’d never told him. He wondered if he would’ve told her if he’d met Nevada sooner, and he couldn’t be certain. 

“I think I misunderstood what I was feeling after she was gone. It wasn’t the shop I was being drawn to, but you and her children.”

“Well you can’t have them, either,” Caractacus said, and Nevada made a small sound of amusement beside him. 

“No, of course, I’m not asking to meet them or anything, that would be...unfair. I only want to make sure they’re safe and provided opportunities—”

“I know you didn’t come here to question his parenting,” Nevada said, the warning in his voice unmistakable. 

“I’d like to set up college funds for your children, Mr. Potts. And more, if you’ll let me, but I understand if you’re reluctant. I can’t imagine how it must seem, me butting into your life like this.”

“Does your wife know?” Caractacus asked.

“Yes. I didn’t tell her until after. She knows I love her but I didn’t want to risk giving her any doubts, you know? She lost her soulmate when they were young.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “But I couldn’t keep it from her, in the end. I’ll give you time to think about my offer. Here’s my card, you can call me if you ever need anything. I mean that. I feel like it’s the least I can do.”

“No,” Caractacus said, taking the card and glancing down at it, “the least you could do would be nothing. I’m sorry she didn’t feel like she could or should tell me about you, but I’m glad you did. I’ll keep in touch, Mr. Rose.”

“Call me Grayson. Or Gray.”

“Jack, then,” Caractacus answered. “Or Caractacus if you prefer, although I can’t imagine anyone would,” he added with a self-deprecating smile.

Grayson chuckled. “It is unique, I’ll give you that. But I’d expect nothing less from a man with a flying car.”

Caractacus laughed, too. “How long did you two talk?” he asked, amazed to feel no discomfort at the idea. He was glad that Mimsie had met this man before her passing. 

“It felt like a moment...and a lifetime.”

Caractacus nodded, glancing at Nevada. 

“Right, well, I’ll get out of your hair. Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.”

“You, too,” Caractacus said, extending a hand to shake, and Grayson looked momentarily taken aback. Then he swallowed, and Caractacus could see the relief and gratitude in the other man’s expression as he shook the offered hand. 

Grayson gave Nevada a nod, which Nevada copied, before turning to let himself out of the apartment.

When they were alone, Caractacus looked down at the business card in his left hand. “That was rather odd,” he murmured.

“A flying what, now?” Nevada asked.

Caractacus looked at him and laughed. “Chitty’s back in England.”

“The fuck is a _Chitty_?”

Caractacus slipped the card into his pocket and turned to loop his arms around Nevada. “Are you afraid of heights?”

Nevada glared at him through narrowed eyes, resting his hands at Caractacus’s waist. “Why?”

Caractacus grinned for a moment before ducking his head to brush his lips against Nevada’s. “Someday, we’ll have to visit so you can see for yourself.”

“Maybe I’ll go with you,” Nevada said slowly. “When you go to get your kids.”

Caractacus hadn’t mentioned that he’d been considering flying to England to fetch his children instead of letting them travel home unaccompanied, as they’d done on the first leg. He would have to borrow the funds for a round-trip ticket, but his confidence in an insurance payout had increased. He wanted so badly to see them, to touch them, to know they were safe and healthy, and he knew his in-laws would help him with the flight if he asked.

He needed to find them someplace to stay first, though. He needed a home to bring his children home _to_.

“Just a thought,” Nevada said. “I don’t have to—” 

Caractacus smiled, reaching up to touch a hand to Nevada’s face. “It’s sweet, and I want you to meet my children. I need to find an apartment as soon as possible so I can bring them home.” 

“Gonna be weird not having you in my bed,” Nevada said. 

“You can still _have_ me there,” Caractacus laughed. “I’ll visit. And when you’re comfortable with the idea, maybe you can—”

“Yeah, I was thinking,” Nevada cut in. “I could rent this place to Angelo easy, he pays way too much where he’s at and he already works here. You know. Not right away, but when you and the kids are okay with it.”

Caractacus kissed him again, letting his lips linger as he drew a breath through his nose. He felt calmer than he had in years. “We’ll figure it all out,” he murmured against Nevada’s mouth, and Caractacus knew it was true.


End file.
